Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons
by Silverthreads
Summary: Severus Snape is found in a Muggle mental institution. He seems to be out of his mind. What next?
1. Default Chapter

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Standard Disclaimers apply: Not mine, not making any money off this.

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Straight Jacket 

"He's quiet now, of course," the orderly unnecessarily explained as the two visitors peered through the tiny window into the padded cell. 

As if aware he was being observed, the man inside lifted his head causing the curtain of black hair to fall away and reveal his features. 

The woman gasped softly, "It's him." She peered through the thick glass at the man seated on the floor -- there was, after all, no furniture within -- whose eyes were black voids empty of any sentience. "I'll want a list of everything you've given him," she said cooly without turning away. 

"You've his name, then?" The doctor standing a ways back countered. 

"And, of course, all his records," the woman did not deign to reply. 

The man with her, a younger man but prematurely greying, sighed wearily and he did step back from the window. "Yes, of course. But it's very hush-hush, old man. Government secrecy and all." 

Perhaps the doctor wasn't buying it. Or perhaps he merely didn't find such reasoning to be all that convincing or reassuring. He snorted. "Quite," and gestured to the orderly. "Well, I suppose there's nothing for it. He's yours then. His file will be at the front desk." With that the psychiatrist snorted once more and strode off in a huff. 

The orderly shrugged and swiped a card through the electronic lock. There was an audible click. At which sound, the prisoner -- sorry, patient -- jerked and cringed back, pulling his outstretched legs up to hug to his chest. As the orderly made to enter, a light touch on his arm held him back. The plump, grey haired woman shook her head, "No, I'll fetch him. I rather think he's ... a bit afraid of you." 

The man had the good grace to look abashed. "Well, he were a tad violent at times and I'm the one had to subdue him." 

The woman only nodded as she swept inside. It was but three steps to reach the dark haired man's corner and then she knelt and slid a pair of soft slippers on his feet. "Come, dear, it's time to go." She held the empty gaze that had finally moved to her. Clearly he didn't understand. She started to rise and gently tugged at his sleeve to induce him to follow her lead. A confused look passed over his face but he did push himself, albeit unsteadily, to his feet. The lady's companion came up to his other side and caught his other arm. Between them, they kept him upright and guided him as he slowly shuffled toward the door. 

It was a long trek back to the front desk with the orderly anxiously explaining to them the lack of funding that a government run hospital had to endure. Especially a psychiatric hospital. But they did their best what with the cut backs. Couldn't afford to keep up with housekeeping any more but at least they got the meds... 

The orderly left them as they neared the public area and the receptionist's desk. On the floor beside the desk was a plastic bag and in her hand a thin dull colored folder. "I suppose you'll want to check his things before you sign him out," she said in a voice that clearly communicated a vague annoyance with them. 

"Yes, actually, I would." The man smiled at her anyway and his natural brilliance made her smile back and she merely nodded as he pawed through the bag. It didn't take long,though, and then the papers signed while the woman manuvered a coat over the thin cotton pajamas the patient wore. The receptionist watched them slowly make their way outside. Her phone rang then and she lost all interest in the deeparting trio. 

Remus Lupin guided his companions to the quiet ally. With a quick glance about to be certain they were alone, he brought out his wand and a moment later the three disappeared from the Muggle neighborhood. 

Twelve Grimmauld Place was forebidding even on the best of days. Today was a good day. The sun was shining, the sky was clear and clean, the temperature comfortable. But the denizens of the decrepit residence were far from happy. Even though they had retrieved the missing Order member, the state they had found him in was less than reassuring. He really should have been in hospital, a wizard hospital that is. But St. Mungos would not be safe and with all those Ministry -- and other -- types wandering Hogwarts' grounds this summer, that wasn't a possibility either. 

Remus Lupin sat at the kitchen table not really listening to Mad-Eye Moody's vituperous harangue regarding the folly of going after the missing spy without taking a single trained Auror. "You took Poppy Pomfrey, of all people! Lupin! Are you listening to me?" 

"No, not really," the morose werewolf admitted softly but with a mischevious smile threatening his otherwise somber expression. "Anyway, you would have left him there." 

"Eh, maybe so. Out of trouble anyway." The old Auror felt no remorse for his distrust, and worse, loathing, of the Order's spy. 'Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater was his motto. One of many, actually. But he was not going to change and Remus Lupin had no intention of arguing with him. At least not today. 

It was then the kitchen door to the outside creaked open and a gaggle of play-worn teens dragged themselves in, dragging brooms and still arguing cheerfully about their flight. It was near teatime and all three looked ready for it with windswept hair and red faces. They halted in apparent shock that Molly Weasely was not in the kitchen and there was nothing baking nor even a steaming kettle. 

Tall gangly Ron, the youngest of the Weasely boys looked suddenly worried. "Has something happened to our Mum?" He locked a worried gaze on the older men. 

Remus shook his head. "She's fine. She's upstairs with Madame Pomfrey and our ... erm... guest." 

"Guest?" Harry Potter asked before anyone else. 

"We finally located Professor Snape, Harry." Lupin replied quietly. 

"Here?!" Ron was flabbergasted and not at all happy. 

"Don't worry, lads, he's in no shape to give you any trouble," Moody was practically chortling even under Lupin's glare. 

The other kitchen door, the inside one, opened, and two women bustled in. The elder, the grey haired Hogwarts mediwitch wore a severe expression that was otherwise unreadable. But to any who knew her that only made it clear that things were grave indeed. 

The younger, the red headed and slightly plump matron of the Weasely clan was not so adept in covering her emotions and her normally cheerful countanence was even more grim. 

"Mum?" One of the Weasely twins prodded uncertainly. 

"Oh, dears, we'll have our tea in a bit," Molly tried to fall back on her usual role, scurrying about the kitchen as she hurridly put a tea together, but the tremor in her voice did not make her false calm at all convincing. 

Tea was unusually somber. Pomfrey had declined to stay as she still had work at Hogwarts even though school was not yet in session. Moody remained, his secret obsession with Mrs Weasely's home cooking still undiscovered though it would not have surprised anyone. But his callous cheer did not uplift anyone. 

"Well, Mum," George started once the tea was poured and sandwiches passed, 

"Are you going to tell us what's going on?" Fred finished as he snagged a biscuit from the central plate. 

"No reason not to, Molly," Remus added. And then he explained, "Some students, Muggle borns obviously, saw a piece on their... teleevision about psychiatric hospitals run by the Muggle government," he made a gesture of disgust then dropped that part of the story, "The important thing is that several patients were shown and one of them was Se- Professor Snape." He paused, clearly uncertain how much more detail to go into. He shrugged and finished simply, "We got him out." 

"He's not well," Molly said in an attempt to not say much at all. 

Moody snorted. "That's an understatement!" 

"You are not helping, Mad-eye," Remus growled in exasperation at the old Auror. 

"Well, as we cannot return to the "Burrow" I will be looking after Professor Snape here in Poppy's stead." The matronly witch continued. Her youngest son looked shocked. 

"You're a mediwitch, mum?" 

Finally she smiled and shook her head. "I'm a 'mum' Ronald Weasely." 


	2. When in Doubt, Tea!

Thanks to all the kind and encouraging reviews! I will try not to disappoint! :)

As before, all standard disclaimers apply. Not mine and no money passing hands.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

The piercing scream woke the entire house and it was immeditately clear that the cry did _not_ come from that wretched protrait. For Madame Black's invective carried on angrily after, muffled by the heavy curtain pulled shut in front of the painting. The scream died leaving a shattered silence newly filled with pattering footsteps and thudding doors. 

Molly and Arthur were first to reach the door but Ron and Harry were right there as the adults rushed inside, Arthur calling forth dim light from the wall sconces. The boys followed though not without some trepidation. The blankets surged weakly against the restraint provided by the couple along with an incoherent flood of desperate sounds. As the blankets fell aside, revealing the dark hair and pale face of Severus Snape, the meaningless sounds, no longer muffled, became distressed (and distressingly) meaningless words. Mrs Weasely answered the desperate nonesense with a soothing voice that solicited calm. But it was not certain whether that or simple exhaustion stilled the Potions Master's struggles. 

"He's fevered," Arthur muttered as he straightened up from holding the pallid man down then sat on the edge of the bed. 

Molly nodded, "Poppy said to expect that. Muggle poisons." This last said with as much of a sneer as anyone had ever heard issue from the normally sweet voiced mother. 

"They meant well." 

There was no reply to that as Molly concentrated on fussing with the twisted blankets and weakly trembling form beneath them until her angry frown melted into one of concern. "Much too hot," she murmured. 

"Stillborn." Snape replied with certain whisper. "Orange mountain tickles the sea." 

"Erm..." Arthur began. Ron giggled and Harry's elbow poked him sharply in the side. 

"Yes, dear." Molly replied as if the fevered man had made sense; and it did seem to satisfy him. His dark eyes closed and his ragged breathing calmed. 

"Is he asleep Mrs Weasley?" Harry asked, his voice shaking. "Will he be all right?" 

"Arthur, Poppy left some 'Fever-Down.'" 

"I know where it is, love." He rose and as he exited swept Ron and Harry out of the room with him, "Come on, lads. Back to bed." 

"What happened? Will he be all right?" Harry insisted even as Mr. Weasley firmly guided the boys towards their bedroom. 

"I'm afraid I don't know the answer to either of those questions, Harry. Stroke of luck he was found at all." 

"In a Muggle hospital, yet," Ron urged as subtly as he knew how. 

"Voldemort wouldn't have had that!" Harry, as usual, was blind to both father and son flinching at his casual use of the name. "Would he have?" 

"Lads, now is not the time to discuss this. Back to bed with you." The elder Weasley called as he hurried into the room he and Molly were using. Both boys, he was fleetingly pleased to note, had obeyed and were no longer loitering about the hall when he returned. By the time he got back to Molly, he found his wife had transfigured a bowl of cool water and washrag, from what he couldn't tell. She was smoothing it against the Potions Master's brow. Her gentle comfort was one of the things that had first moved Arthur so when he had finally deigned to notice girls as something other than variations of his sisters to be teased or ignored. "Molly?" 

She turned her head and looked up at him and despite the years and seven children, she saw her Arthur fall in love all over again. But then, he did that on nearly a daily basis. She smiled despite the incongruency of that sweetness at this time of troubles. "Give it here, then, Love. Hold him up for me." She uncorked the vial while her husband manuvered an arm beneath Professor Snape's unresisting shoulders and head. "Four drops should do for an adult." She gently tapped the professor's cheek to awaken him. "This will help you feel better," she said when his eyes opened, though she thought it unlikely he understood her words surely her tone would convince him. 

But once those dark eyes lit upon the vial in her hand, the man was anything but calmly cooperative. He moaned and tried to pull away even though away was merely against Arthur's supporting arm. He clamped his mouth firmly shut and turned his head away. 

"Oh dear." Molly sat back and shook her head. "I won't force him. Clearly he's had too much of that." 

"Perhaps he'll take it in some tea?" 

"A weak tea, not too hot. I'll put up the kettle and make us a pot as well. I daresay it is going to be a long night." 

Arthur gave a small smile. "Well, so it was with Fred. Remember that? Couldn't keep anything down poor lad, including the 'Fever-Down.'" 

"Thank heavens that's something the twins don't share!" Molly hurried out to the kitchen. 

Arthur took her place, re-moistening the washrag and applying it to the hot face that was now more flush than pallid. "Well, Professor, I wish you could tell us what you've been about these past few months. School starts in a fortnight. I don't think you will be ready." He stared thoughtfully at the semi-conscious man. 

A tersely fervent whisper answered, but there was no sense to the sounds that came from Snape's mouth. If they were words, they certainly weren't in any language Arthur Weasley knew. With a somewhat frustrated sigh at not being able to do more, he merely removed the rag and ran it over Snape's face then wrists. His eyes widened at the scars there. But he winced at the Dark Mark on the left forearm. How could anyone live with that? How could anyone voluntarily give themselves to that?! 

A quiet knock at the door interrupted his ruminations. Not Molly, she wouldn't have knocked. "Yes?" 

"It's Remus." 

"Come in. How did it go?" Arthur looked back at the younger wizard. 

"We're almost done putting up the new wards at Hogwarts. Yours is secure, not even Moody could break through it." 

Arthur merely smiled. "Not just mine. Something Molly and I put together. The experience of parenthood, you know." 

"And love." Arthur blushed at the werewolf's comment. Lupin strolled over to the bedside and peered down. "Not good," he murmured. 

Arthur merely frowned in response. Severus gasped something quiet and incohrerent. 

Molly's return seemed long delayed and Arthur was about to go see what was keeping her when her vibrance swept through the half open doorway, a tray with teapot, cups and saucers in her hands. "Remus! I thought I heard you come in. Are you all right, dear?" She set the tray down on the bedside table. There were, indeed, four cups and saucers stacked on the tray. "You look a bit peaked." Her voice was relaxed and casual, but her actions, preparing a cup of tea weakened with water and spiked by several drops of the fever reducing potion, was brisk and all business. 

"Tea would be welcome," the werewolf admitted. 

"And then a bite to eat, I think. You are much too thin." She settled down on the chair pulled up alongside the bed and nodded to her husband. Remus transfigured some towels into pillows and they stuffed these behind Severus' shoulders. "Now then. Tea. Come along, Severus, I know you must be thirsty. It's just tea and it's not so very hot..." She cajoled and wheedled and prodded until she managed to get half of the mixture into him. He resisted then, clamping his jaw shut tight and turning his head away. At that, she gave in and sat back. "Well. Perhaps if we have ours it will convince him to take more." 

"I don't think he'd even notice," Remus shook his head. "I think he simply isn't thirsty any more." 

Arthur reached out for the cup in Molly's hands. "I'll take over, you have your tea, Love. And Remus can tell us news of 'The Burrow,' if there is any." 

Husband and wife traded places and Molly poured tea for Remus and herself. The younger wizard added a dallop of milk and some honey and was still stirring as his expression became even more unhappy. "I'm afraid it doesn't look good. The newer additions you put in are completely unrepairable..."   


_Bzzzz..._

Sound? Noise? 

What meaning this? What? Where? Who? 

Who? 

Grey. Grey things. Moving. Moving grey things. 

Paingivers?

Yes. No. The pain was constant now. Constant and distant. These were not the the ones that tortured. What were these grey moving things, then? 


	3. Hide and Seek

Wow! More reviews! Thank you all! Yes, there is a plot. No, I am not giving it away. :) 

As ever, standard disclaimers apply. 

Brandon was a seventeenth century English magician who was known for the rather bizarre trick of making a sketch of a real dove that was perched on a rooftop; when he stabbed the drawing, the real bird fell to the ground, dead. _-- magictricks.com under /bios _

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**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

He was prone. He knew this because of the pressure against his back. A tight blindfold prevented him seeing his surroundings. Not that such would do him much good, bound as he was. His wrists and ankles chafed against some thick hide-like material; another thick band encircled his chest. He could barely squirm. He might have been alone; certainly there was no sound but a soft unnatural whir that did not vary. 

How long had it been? 

Now, that was a strange question. How long since what? How long had he been like this? How long since... before? He didn't recall any _before._ He only knew that _now_ he was flat on his back, blind, and alone. At least he thought he was alone. He only heard that strange whirring and his own thudding heartbeat. 

So. Where should he have been? Where should he have expected to be? Come to that, _who was he, anyway?_

A sharp sucking of air caught his attention. Some sound at last, though he had no idea what it meant. "He's awake," a husky female voice came from somewhere. 

"So, this is a wizard, eh?" another voice, male and rough, not unlike ...M-... someone ... Who? His mind gave no answer. "Looks human enough, heh!" the male voice snorted derisively. 

"Well so he is Ca-" 

"No names." 

"Of course." He could almost hear the woman roll her eyes. 

There were some other sounds, none of which he could identify, and the conversation continued. "And what have you ascertained from this, erm, specimen? Will he be what we anticipate?" 

"He's not especially co-oper-" 

"Muggles!" the prisoner rasped hoarsely as the word suddenly forced itself forward. 

"Eh?" the male voice, questioningly. 

"Apparently their word for the rest of us normal folk," the woman explained tersely, her frown evident in her tone. "Indeed, we are." The woman addressed him. She was close now. Too close. "Do you know your name?" 

"No. Do you?" 

"Your name is Brandon." 

_No. She is lying!_ He felt it though he could not know it. He tried not to let his doubt enter his expression._Why would she lie?_

"And so, Brandon, how are you feeling today?" 

"Why don't you tell me?" his own voice rasped back. "That way I should know what you wish to hear." Her slap stung his cheek. She hadn't liked his sarcasm, apparently. Oddly enough, this made him feel strangely satisfied. A sudden sharp prick on his arm reminded him that she could do a great deal more to him than merely slap him. It was an alien sensation that became less unfamiliar as unreasonable terror upwelled and spread over and through him. His heart began to vibrate harder and faster. His lungs were constricting; he couldn't breathe. Worse than drowning! Worse than -- 

Two hands held his head still and a hollow voice came echoing from far away. He wanted to scream just to make sure he could hear it. But no sound could he force out without any breath in his lungs. 

"Severus!" A thin voice called from a remote and inaccessible distance just before a welcome darkness overtook his senses. 

"Good morning Brandon." 

"I am not Brandon." 

A brilliant shock of agony seared his face. Silent, no warning! No, there was a hum... Again. Again! His chest, his face, his palms, the soles of his feet. He screamed at last, a moment before unconsciousness took him. 

"Good morning Brandon." 

He did not answer. _I am not Brandon!_

An insect pricked the tender skin of his abused arm. More pain, more nausea. More darkness. 

The light was bright and it burnt his eyes. Voices spoke and he knew they were speaking about him. "This is useless! This--" hesitation "--wizard of yours is no good if he can't perform as advertised. Wizard indeed! Cock up I'd say! Wizard!" 

"If it's proof you need--" A snort cut off this plea. "All right!" He heard something slam with a metallic crash. Then a face moved into view and something was slapped against his palm. Instinctively his fingers closed about the slim, smooth wood. He felt a warm flush of power reverberate down his arm and he focused, trying to sense the source. Surprisingly, it was not the slender rod in his hand, but rather formed from within himself! He gasped and almost cried out. The warmth surged along his arm and through his wrapped fingers. He heard the crackle of lightning as sparks of lime and silver burst from the end of the rod. 

And just as he almost recognized this power within himself, the wand was snatched from his weak grip and all his meager strength dissolved. 

He woke to silent darkness and an uncomfortable pressure against his back. No. Not quite silent. There it was, _whirrrr_ ...not an insect. No, it was too... constant. He tried to open his eyes, and realized that he had a headache that was the result of a too tight blindfold. He heard a sound, an unnatural gushing of air, then muffled footsteps and the rustle of cloth. An insect stung him. He felt sick to his stomach. He couldn't move but it didn't matter, there was nothing in his stomach to throw up anyway. And then the terror rose as well. Undefinable, undeniable--! 

"What shall we do with you, Brandon?" The husky voice belonged to a woman with dark blond hair cut absurdly short and styled as if the owner wanted something she needn't bother fussing with. 

"Who are you? Why am I here?" 

"Your name is Brandon. I've told you this. You are an agent in Mi6." 

"I don't understand." 

The woman, sighed and looked down at him with grave concern, clasping the flat tablet she had been studying to her chest. "You were injured. Head injury. Lost your memory. We're trying to help you get it back." 

"No..." 

"Sorry. Yes." 

"You... are a healer?" 

"A doctor, yes." 

"That is not my name..." 

"I'm going to give you a shot now." 

No! No! Again, the prick, nausea, overwhelming terror. And finally endless night. 

"No!" The cry ripped from Snape's throat as the delirious man threw himself forward. Arthur Weasley barely managed to grab hold of him before any damage was done. 

"Snape!" The professor's body jerked once against the ministry official's hold then sagged as if all life was drained from him. "There now. Let's have you lie back. Good man. That's got it." Arthur let the other man down into the pillows and straightened the sheets, pulling them up over the Potions Master's shoulders. "Can you hear me, Professor?" The dark eyes were halfway between open and shut and discomfitingly unfocused and it was perhaps too much to ask him to be aware of anything at all. But the fever did seem to at least not be rising any more. 

"M-muggles..." 

"What? Muggles? What about them? Severus? What happened?" 

"Arthur, no. Don't force him yet, please." Molly had come hurrying upstairs as soon as she'd heard the scream. It had made its way through the dismal confines of the former Black residence almost as loudly as the portrait Madame Black's own vile screeches. Behind her crowded several other Order members, all curious and suspicious. "Albus will be here shortly." 

"Who...?" a tremulous voice gasped as the long fingered hand plucked weakly at Arthur's sleeve, then fell away when the owner of the hand lost consciousness again. 

"He's not much use like this," Mad-Eye Moody grumped. "You sure he isn't faking, Molly?" The ex-Auror's good eye narrowed as it gazed suspiciously at the now limp form on the bed. 

Molly snorted. "As if I couldn't tell! Now out, all of you. Standing about here isn't going to answer any of our questions and Albus will be here soon... I better finish things in the kitchen. Mad-Eye, tell the children to come in now." She glanced once at Arthur for the support she knew she'd find and then herded everyone out. If Albus needed a second in command he surely couldn't do better than Molly Weasley, the only person to actually make the Weasley Twins nervous. Even Mad-Eye knew better than to argue; at least not until he was sure he had no choice. This wasn't the time or the issue for a confrontation with the red-headed woman. 

The psychiatrist sat back in his squeaky chair, oblivious to the discomfort it's familiar sound imparted to the three visitors standing across the other side of his neat desk. "They had the right papers," he assured the man who was quite obviously in charge. "This isn't one your fancy--" 

"Yes, yes. Very well. Can you describe them to us?" 

"Well the man looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, perhaps. His hair was brown going grey. Might be younger then... Ah, average height, I suppose. Thin. The woman, rather... erm... Dowdy, actually. Grey curls. I remember that. Reminded me of an elderly Aunt..." He shrugged apologetically. "Alice didn't tell me anything about the fellow..." He decided then that the best course of action would be to not say anything else. 

The man in charge sighed. "We'll be in touch if we have any more questions. Phone us if you think of anything useful." Without another word he spun about and strode out of the slightly dilapidated office. 

Only when they three men had piled into the car did anyone say anything further. "Bloody hell! What was she thinking?!" 

One of his companions shrugged and offered a placating, "Well at least she didn't follow orders and have him killed." 

"I think the governor would almost prefer that, Lou. I hate tying up loose ends." 

"What about the estimable doctor?" 

The leader snorted. "Not important. Leave him to his mental patients." 

He felt... something. Alive, yes, that was it. He felt alive. He felt the presence of another. He briefly wondered what that meant. After all, there was no other. He was alone...

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	4. Around the Table

Once more thank you to my reviewers for all the encouragement. You guys make me smile. I had no idea my story would be so well received. I hope it continues to please you! Thank you also for the suggestions. I will try to take some of them to heart.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

There was far too much going on. All of it disturbing. 

Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, hands wrapped around the steaming mug of tea Molly had poured out for him. Despite expectations (not to mention his own desires), the Headmaster had not gone directly upstairs on his arrival. Rather, he had taken one look at the pinched faces waiting for him and decided the best course of action would be to get straight to Order business without delay. 

Harry and Ron had both volunteered to keep an eye on the Order's prodigal spy so that the senior members could all meet at the same time. For once Harry was not exactly devastated at not being a part of the goings on downstairs. Indeed, as anyone could see by his pinched expression, the boy was tired of it. Tired of all the tension and fear. And what with the attack on "The Burrow," (not really surprising given Mr Weasley's well known Muggle sympathies), tired of never having a definitive win. He wanted to help. But he was willing, for once, to let the adults shoulder all the responsibility of the decision making. He and Ron had taken themselves and a Wizard's Chess set upstairs. The game would hopefully keep them occupied while their potions professor slept fitfully nearby. 

The Headmaster was showing his age when he lifted his face and settled his gaze to his right, upon Molly's determinedly hopeful face. He reached out and patted her hands folded tensely before her as on the rough grained kitchen table. "I am so sorry, child," he began. 

"It's just a house, Albus. Not my children." She interrupted with a forced vigor. It _was_ just a house, after all. The house they'd built up from a tiny cottage. The house where she'd raised -- was raising -- her seven children. But his tender pat on her hand told her he knew what the home had meant. "My children are what matter," she reiterated softly. "All children matter--" her voice broke and, embarrassed, she swiped her eyes with the corner of her ever present apron. 

"Let's get on with this Albus," Moody growled. "Some of us have things to do. I'm sorry Molly but --" 

"It's war. I know, Alastor," the indomitable red head finished his sentence before him and sat up straighter. 

"The foundation is still strong and the original building is mostly there..." Dumbledore continued. "It can be rebuilt." 

"After the War, Albus." Arthur Weasley's voice was strong and decisive. "First we win this war, then we rebuild." He hesitated and continued with a gentler tone, "We'll rebuild when our children are safe. But it is nice to know it's not all gone." 

"Probably even a few garden gnomes are left waiting for you," Tonks added with a poorly stifled sniff. 

"I'm just glad there were no deaths." Molly whispered. "I'm glad we had the warning, but it's awful that Harry still has this connection to _him."_

"To be honest," Moody said thoughtfully, "I'm a bit surprised it took him this long to decide to attack you, Arthur. You and Molly both come from solid pureblood lines, but you are a well known muggle-phile and not without some rank in the ministry." 

Dumbledore sipped his tea and waited for the topic to come to a natural end. "At least that gives us someone in residence here at headquarters." A furtive glance upwards said what he didn't put into words. That having the Weasleys staying at Grimmauld Place also meant that he could keep Severus safely hidden; at least until the man was recovered. Assuming... 

Remus Lupin was nodding absently. "Yes, it's good to have someone here all the time." Sirius' will had left all his possessions to both the werewolf and Harry, with Remus as executor. Remus had assured the Headmaster that the Order would have use of the place for as long as was needed. The place needed fixing up, but at least that mad house-elf was gone. He'd been remanded to the care of the elf-unit of St. Mungos, despite the fact that more than once of the Order members would not have minded a less charitable finish. 

"No one better than Molly!" Tonks added cheerfully, pouring out a second mug of tea for herself. "You have no idea how welcome it is to come back from a mission to your hot chocolate and friendly face, Molly." She grinned as the older woman ducked her head and blushed. 

"Well that's fine, but what about prince charming up there." Moody growled. "I take he hasn't offered anything useful." 

"Moody," Kingsley Shacklebolt warned, shooting the retired Auror a long suffering glare. 

"He hasn't said anything, really." Molly reported calmly. "He's made sounds but hasn't actually spoken. He's not really been quite conscious yet." 

"I for one want to know what the hell he was doing in a muggle hospital." 

Dumbledore finished his tea. "I think we'd all like to know that, Alastor. It's not exactly Voldemort's regular modus operandi, is it. But I think it is equally important that we find out what path brought him there." He looked around the table at the expectant faces. "Tonks?" 

The youngest Auror looked thoughtful, as if she was referring to notes stored behind her eyes. Her gaze refocused on the headmaster and she began her report in a bland tone of recitation that had none of her usual accent or timbre. "Snape was last seen leaving Hogwarts by Professor Sprout early morning a week after classes ended. He was wearing black robes --" 

"The man wears nothing else--" Moody was cut off by a sour look from both Lupin and Shaklebolt. 

Tonks cleared her throat and resumed, "He may have been spotted two days later in... no, outside of Banstead in Surrey in the company of three other Death Eaters. This is uncertain as they were all masked and none of them were captured." 

"That's the last sighting and it's not even a reliable one." Shaklebolt added. 

"The next time he's seen is on Muggle telly." 

"Yes, Hermoine's owl came as soon as she could dash off a note," Dumbledore said. 

"And others came to the ministry. Sure was a shock to his muggle-born students seeing him trussed up like a--" 

"Nymphadora Tonks!" Molly wasn't sure what the younger woman was about to compare the Potions Master with, but she was certain is wasn't nice and she was in no mood to hear it. 

"Sorry." 

"He's not as badly as other times the Dark Lord has seen fit to..." Molly broke off with a helpless shrug. 

"It's not as if the Dark Lord would send him to a muggle hospital anyway." Arthur did his best to take up the slack. "But there are signs of torture and I'd say it's muggle torture. Much as I'm intrigued with them, I know they are as human and as fallible as we wizards." 

Dumbledore sat up straighter and frowned. "What do you mean, Arthur?" 

The red haired Weasley patriarch frowned in turn. "Tiny punctures in the skin. Poppy saw them when she first examined him. She said that was how muggle healers administer their odd potions. Not all wizarding potions are for healing, we shouldn't expect any different from muggle potions." His frown deepened. "Poppy fears things could be pretty bad for him. She said that many of these muggle concoctions provided quite unfortunate effects to some of the old purebloods. She was going to do some research as soon as she got back to Hogwarts." 

"Well, it hasn't been but a day--" 

Whatever else the Headmaster was going to say was lost when Ron came barreling into the kitchen. "Mum, Dad, we need help!"   
  
--   
  



	5. Leaping to Conclusions

As always, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

The light is bright. Too bright. it hurts... 

"Good morning Brandon." 

_No! No, there is nothing good._

The woman is smiling but he knows she is false. 

"I am going to give you your wand in a moment. You won't do anything unless I tell you, will you?" 

He watches her reposition the patches on his chest and face. She places another at his wrist and another just below the crook of his elbow before placing the wand in his hand. He twitches and a jolt of pure agony is driven through him. He refuses to cry out but his body jerks and twitches even after the pain is reduced. His fingers grip the wood so tightly that he can feel his nails digging into his palm. 

"I'd have thought he'd be more cooperative than this, Maggie." a man's voice, older but not ancient, comments dryly from somewhere out of sight. 

"Then we can hope he will serve our needs beyond expectations. I suggest we leave the room now..." 

_Expectations. Exceeds Expectations... Important. Why?_

"Now, Brandon, show us--" Her voice echos loudly, reverberating from the walls as well as his head. Incoherent screams pound his ears just before an arch of brilliant lightning flashes from his wand. It hits something, He doesn't know or see what. He doesn't especially care what. Another bolt flares and then something explodes. There is darkness all of a sudden and smoke. Lots of smoke getting thicker. Small explosions are snapping all around. The smoke is thick and brown and acid. Suddenly that earlier torture is resumed and pain is coursing through his body. A terrible ear piercing wail starts up that goes on and on while until lack of oxygen befuddles his lungs and mind and even panic seems distant and tranquil.   
  
--   
  
Harry didn't know what to do. Without any warning at all the man had started hyperventilating. He and Ron, caught up in their match, hadn't realized he'd been awake. But even now there was no sign of the wide eyed panic normally seen with this affliction. The teen hovered ineffectually at the bedside, his tense fear relieved only when an adult arm gently pulled him aside letting Mrs Weasley take his place. Immediately, she murmured a charm and the man relaxed, his breathing settled. 

"What happened boys?" Remus was the first to ask. 

"Nothing!" Ron's tone was offended. 

"Remus, nothing. We were playing chess and he was asleep. It looked like he was asleep." 

"Remus, dear, don't scold them." Molly said looking up from Professor Snape's unresponsive form. "I think it was a reaction to the Muggle potions." 

"But you aren't giving him any, are you?" asked Tonks, her expressive face showing confusion. 

"No, of course not, dear. But they are still in him." 

"Withdrawal." Harry said suddenly. Being the one person here with any extensive exposure to the Muggle world, he was the first to conclude what might be going on. 

"Explain, Harry," Dumbledore encouraged with his usual kindly tone. 

"Sometimes Muggles take too much of their drugs, their potions I mean, and when they stop taking them their bodies react badly. They call it withdrawal." 

"Do they have any remedies for this malady?" 

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, sir." 

Mrs Weasley frowned and shook her head. "Even if they do, Albus, Severus would likely not tolerate them well." She looked back at the man on the bed and saw that his eyes were open. Blank in their stare but open. She forced a smile. "Hello, dear. Feeling all right, now?" Not that she, or anyone, expected an answer. The dark eyes moved away from her and settled on Tonks who was peering down at the man with unabashed curiosity. 

Horror flooded the Potions Masters face and he moaned, his gaze glued to Tonks. "No" wrenched weakly from his throat. 

Tonks pulled back in surprise. "I didn't do anything!" Everyone was looking at her. 

"Of course not, Tonks," Dumbledore acknowledged. "But perhaps you remind him of someone who did." 

Tonks scrubbed her hand through the short blond hair she had chosen for today and shrugged. Too bad they couldn't ask him about it. 

The Headmaster saw the wheels turning in her mind and answered the unstated question with a definite shake of his head, "And I will not invade his mind by casting _legilimens._ I daren't risk an adverse reaction," he added quietly. 

The Potions Master snarled but looked terrified rather than ferocious. Tonks quickly moved back behind Kingsley and Mad-Eye and Snape returned to his former catatonic state. 

"As fascinating a mystery as this is, it's not a priority." Moody intoned. "Countering You-Know-Who's attacks is. Arthur's place wasn't the only one attacked that night. They're getting so bold I wouldn't be surprised if You-Know-Who himself ran for office." 

"That's disgusting," Tonks retorted. "I'd expect a coup is more his way." 

"My dears, that is what this war is all about." Dumbledore reminded them all. "He is not strong enough for open warfare yet. For now he settles for the smaller assaults with the intent to strike terror into those of us who are already afraid as well as gather to himself the fanatical soldiars needed as fodder." 

"So why would he send Snape to the Muggles?" Shacklebolt asked. 

Dumbledore shrugged. He had absolutely no ideas there.   
  
--   
  
When Dr. Margaret Sellinger finally got home after a thoroughly frustrated day of yelling at incompetent assitants, she was contemplating a long hot soak in jasmine scented bubble bath. She unlocked her door, slipped inside and scooped the post up from the floor without looking up. Eyes still frowning at the junk catalogs and advertisements for useless magazines, she kicked the door closed. 

"Good evening Doctor." The voice was low and casual. 

She dropped the papers as her head snapped up to see the three men lounging about her sitting room. "Bloody Hell!" she gasped. "Get out!" 

"Kellerman wasn't at all happy that you didn't properly dispose of the specimen." 

"He's a shortsighted idiot." 

The man shrugged. "Possibly. On the other hand, the gov'nor was more than happy to have you resume your investigations." 

Margaret looked interested. 

"Too bad your hiding place proved insecure." 

"What do you mean?" 

"He's gone." 

"What?! I was just waiting for things to quiet down and then resume the work. What do you mean 'gone?' He couldn't have just strolled out--" 

"At first Leader wanted your head for this cock up. But then he realized it really wasn't your fault. Unless it was you who told the wizards where they might find their man." 

Margaret snorted. "Not bloody likely. So what happened?" She brushed past the man and settled herself down in the remaining overstuffed chair. Clearly they weren't ready to leave yet. And as she was not ready to give up on her project and these louts might be useful. 

"A man and a woman fetched him. They had the correct release forms all properly stamped and signed. All forged, of course." 

"But no one knew he was there!" 

"You don't watch the telly much do you, doc?" One of the other men observed. 

"Not at all, in fact. Waste of time and brain cells." I suppose you do, though, don't you? She didn't say this out loud, of course, but the condescending sneer on her face might have given the thought away. "Why?" 

"Because one of _them_ obviously does," the group's leader answered. "Your man was in the news, my dear. Caught in a background shot in an expose on the shabby treatment given by the government funded mental wards." 

Shit. 


	6. What's Done Is Done

I have been asked if I write as I go or have an outline. The answer is, "yes to both." :) Again, thank you all for the encouragement! 

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

It was a pleasant day and Molly had decided to allow Ginny, Ron, and Harry to spend a small portion of it outside. As long as they stayed within the bounds of the wards, of course. That (and the fact that they were in London not out in the country) meant, to the worried parent at least, no flying. No amount of wheedling to the contrary would convince her. Ron was set to keep needling her despite what should have been very obvious warnings of her waning patience, when Harry, a much more observant young man, abruptly said that he really didn't feel comfortable flying anyway. Mrs Weasley's brief look of gratitude made up for Ron's dismal pout. 

"There's plenty else to do, Ron. Come on." The dark haired youth tugged on his friend's arm. 

"Yeah, all right, then." 

"Stay inside the wards!" 

"Yes, mum." "We will Mrs. Weasley." 

"I'll keep an eye on them, Mum," Ginny offered with a look of uncompromising severity. 

Molly sighed as the boys scampered off, Ginny following more sedately. She gave a flick of her wand and the dirty dishes, pots and pans from breakfast piled into the sink where soapy water was waiting. She prepared another pot of tea and some toast and gathered these, with a jar of marmalade and pot of fresh butter, onto a tray. Another charm and the loaded tray was floating languidly. It followed silently as she left the kitchen and made her way upstairs. 

She didn't bother knocking, he'd not have responded to it. She simply pushed the door open and quietly entered. "Professor? Would you like some tea, this morning?" She gestured for the tray to settle onto the table, then pulled a vial from her pocket. "Not too hot, dear, nor too strong," she didn't know if he heard her or not, but she'd always chattered to her children when they were ill and it comforted them, "a little sweet perhaps." She poured out a few drops of the fever reducing potion into the mug followed by tea and some warm water. 

She settled into the chair at the bedside and with a small start saw that he was staring intently at her. She forced away her surprise and smiled gently. "Severus, Can you hear me?" 

The man gave a barely perceptible nod but didn't speak. His expression showed only befuddlement. 

"I'm sure you are not feeling at all well, just now, dear, but we're going to try to help you." She reassured firmly. 

Surprisingly, this brought forth a strangled groan of agony and his eyes clenched shut as a tremor passed through his body. 

"Oh dear. I suspect that was not the best thing to say, was it." She put the mug back on the table and reached down to brush his hair from his face. He cringed. She pulled back. "Severus, I am not going to hurt you. Do you hear me? Open your eyes and look at me." She waited while he processed this information and decided whether or not to believe her. 

Either that, or he finally became curious when she said nothing more nor tried to touch him. His eyes opened, twin orbs of utter emptiness set in a grimace of consternation. 

"Do you remember anything?" She asked. But at his complete lack of reaction, decided that was too broad a question. "Do you recognize me?" She asked very quietly. It did not surprise her when his head turned slightly in a small motion of negation. "Do you remember who you are?" 

'No' again and she sighed. "Your name is Severus--" 

"Not... Not Brandon?" a whispered rasp interrupted weakly. 

"Certainly not. What a strange--" She cut herself off. "Did someone tell you that was your name?" 

The tremors returned. 

"Well never mind. It will come back to you. Now have some tea and a bit of toast and you should rest." She lay her wrist on his pale forehead and muttered to herself. Then worked about half the mug of weak, tepid tea (and more importantly the fever reducing potion) into him before he refused any more. The toast she had to finish herself as he grimaced and turned away when it was offered. 

She sat with him, watching him sleep, drifting in and out of one nightmare after another while she worked on some knitting. Once he called out "Father, no!" (which made her glower as she connected that plea to the old scars she'd seen he carried), but mostly he just moaned and whispered incoherently.   
  
--   
  
"They have him back then," Dr. Sellinger grumbled out loud as she paced her sitting room. "Damn! Not that they will learn anything." 

"I've seen the tapes. Your man was about as responsive as a vegetable." 

"Yes, well. A ... minor setback. Although now I suppose we can call it bloody good luck!" 

"Can you guarantee his silence?" The team leader, (she still did not know his name), demanded. 

"I don't know." 

"That's a 'no' in my book, doctor. If we can't retrieve him we'll have to eliminate him somewhat more permanently." The man shrugged. 

"No! I need this subject. No other will do." She had to force herself not to rage. The team leader merely lifted a well formed brow in mild curiosity. "He's powerful. If we can break him and remake him we'll have his power at our command." 

"And?" 

"There's no--" 

"Margaret, don't even try to lie. I'm a field agent. An experienced field agent, in fact. I see right through you, my dear." 

"All right then. He killed someone I know." She looked away, out of her balcony doors and therefore missed the knowing glances that passed between the three men. 

"That will do for now. So where do you suppose he is?" 

"That depends on who came for him. Do you have descriptions?"   
  
--   
  
Molly called the children in for lunch just as Arthur walked up the front steps. Shortly after came Remus Lupin looking as weary as ever and then Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody. Not quite a full house, but enough. At least being in London meant that Arthur could have lunch and occasionally tea with them. Until school started anyway. Likely it would then just be her and Arthur and no children. She had expected Arthur and Remus. But Mad-Eye and Tonks were really not a surprise. 

"Outdone yourself as always, Molly Weasley!" Moody complimented. "Saw the twins today. Passed by their shop. Seemed to be crowded with youngsters getting ready for the upcoming school year." He grinned 

Arthur tried to hide a grin of pride and amusement while his wife tried to look peevish. "I suppose I am proud that they are so successful. But I am quite certain their former professors are less than enthralled." 

Moody chuckled. "Well, then. Be proud that they're also creating wonderful 'toys' for the Order." The scarred warrior shot her a wry grin. He then took on a look of disdain. "They are providing something useful to the Order unlike some supposed spy I could name." 

Tonks stopped chewing her sandwich and rolled her eyes. Moody was going on about Snape again. One would have thought it was personal. She watched the man almost snarl. Actually... maybe it was personal. 

Remus, however, was clearly not in the mood to witness another torrent of the ex-Auror's ire. "Give it a rest, Moody," he pleaded softly. "We've all heard this before." 

Moody grumbled something not fit for mixed company but low enough that Molly didn't catch it. Neither did Harry or Ron but they snickered anyway. Ginny made a face that matched her mother's own indignant expression. Remus shook his head and volunteered to bring something up for Snape. Molly nodded, grateful for the break. Watching over Severus was tiring even though it consisted mostly of merely that; watching. 

Tonks and Moody had left and Arthur was getting ready to return to his office when the knocker reverberated. Mrs Black's portrait started ranting. Molly groaned and rubbed her temples and went to get the door. "Shut up, you bloody hag!" She yelled at the curtained picture as she passed by it. She smoothed her hair and apron and opened the door, wand ready. Arthur, also with his wand out, hid in shadows behind her, ready to yell _stupefy_ at the slightest hint of danger. 

It was Madam Pomfrey and she looked grim. 

"Oh dear," Molly sighed, stepping back to welcome the other witch. Arthur, at least, looked relieved at the identity of the caller. He slipped his wand away and came up to give his wife a kiss on the cheek. 

"I've got to get back to the office." He didn't have to tell her to call him by floo if anything came up. He expected she knew that already. He nodded politely to Poppy and strode out, the door shutting itself behind him. 

"Muggles!" The older witch grumbled. She shook the folder in her hand; it was the one she and Remus had been given by the receptionist at that Muggle hospital. Filthy place! "Some of the things they put into themselves! Disgusting!" She heaved a sigh as she started up the stairs. "Not that I fully understand any of this 'chemistry' of theirs. What _is_ Arthur's fascination with them?" 

Molly knew a rhetorical question when she heard one and this was most definitely a prime example of a rhetorical question! 

The tirade ceased, however, just as the two witches reached the top of the stairs, when they espied Remus Lupin walking a shaking Snape back from the loo. Snape was shuffling along slowly, his weight all but collapsed against the werewolf's side. Remus looked over at the women and smiled wanly. "He had to go." 

"He spoke to you?" Molly asked in surprise. 

Lupin's smile broadened slightly as he shook his head. "He made his need known in other ways. He did pretty well walking there, but he's sort of run out of steam for the hike back." 

Pomfrey, shoved the Muggle folder at Molly and came up along Snape's other side. With her trademark gentleness for the injured and ill, she took his arm in a nonetheless firm hold. Together they managed to bring the failing man back to the bedroom and sit him on the edge of the bed. He was so compliant, so totally not himself. Moody might have thought it an improvement of his personality but Molly did not. 

Molly and Remus stood by, assisting when needed as Poppy examined her uncharacteristically uncomplaining patient. Though he might not have been in any condition to either care or argue, the wizard nurse was considerate enough that when she pulled off the robe, she made sure that his lap was covered. Molly winced at the scars, old and not so old, and the still healing burns and bruises. She avoided looking at the Dark Mark. Faded, it still stood out against the Potion Masters pale flesh. 

At last Pomfrey was satisfied and coaxed her patient into laying back against the pillows. She lifted the blankets up to his shoulders, then lifted his head and moved his hair back out from under his shoulders. "So. No solid food yet, I take it." 

"Not yet." Molly replied tersely. "He's taken weak tea." 

"With 'Fever-Down?'" She made a mark on a parchment with her white quill. 

Molly nodded, then said "yes" when she realized the other witch was writing, not watching her. "I think he might take a bit of restorative potion if it won't react with anything still in his system." 

Pomfrey's head raised, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I don't know. Some of these... things they've put in him are nothing I've ever heard of. I looked up everything I could in that Physicians Desk Reference St Mungos has. But I'm not satisfied." Her voice lowered as if she were thinking out loud. "It does not feel right. Not at all." She sighed. "But he'll starve otherwise. Very well. Let us give him some restorative while I am here to watch his reaction." 

With a wave of her wand, Molly reheated the pot of tea and poured out a half mugful. She added the cool water and Poppy poured out a small vial of nutritional restorative and stirred the concoction. The nurse then coaxed her patient to drink it. He accepted most of it before turning his head away. "Vile taste," the weak voice murmured flatly. 

All three of his companions looked startled. Remus recovered his voice first. "I quite agree, Severus. Would you like some honey in it?" 

Disappointingly, there was no response, even after several minutes of waiting. The dark eyes stared out vacantly. Poppy turned to Molly. "Get some rest, dear. We'll watch out for him. I want to see that there are no ill reactions." 

Molly nodded and exited quietly. The thought of a rest did sound welcoming. But she thought she'd better check up on the children first. 

Remus watched her leave. "She's taking on quite a lot, Poppy." 

"Yes, she is. How are the rest of you doing?" 

"Fine I think. What did you find out?" 

"I do believe they have been using experimental drugs on him as well as torture." 

Remus' eyebrows lifted slightly. "Drugs?" It surprised him to hear her use that terminology. But apparently the twentieth century had caught up to Wizarding medicine. "Erm... Surely not that place--" 

"No. _They_ just used those horrid 'psychotropics.' Bad enough for a Pureblood. He will have been elsewhere; look at the dates. He's been there only since the third of August. Where was he before that date?" 

Remus sighed and ran a hand through his prematurely greying hair. "We need some Muggle help, perhaps."   
  
--   
  



	7. Past Shadows Present

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

* * *

"Gods, that was useless!" Dr. Margaret Sellinger threw down the paper in disgust, barely missing the demitasse still full of the espresso she'd ordered. 

The man seated across from her merely shrugged and sipped his tea. He'd finally gotten rid of his two hangers on and introduced himself as "Preston." She didn't think it was any more his own name than "Brandon" was Snape's. It didn't matter, though. "Preston" was assigned to assist her in getting the wizard back into the agency's hands. Or, more specifically, her lab. "I shouldn't too surprised, really," he offered convivially, "Good help is hard to get these days." 

"Droll." Margaret shifted in her chair. They were in a cafe near her apartment, sharing the scene with couples and small groups out for an evening's entertainment. The place was bustling and loud, the acoustics not being conducive to restraining noise. Her fingers drummed incessantly on the polyurethane coated hardwood surface where she now focused her attention. She didn't notice Preston's detached observation settle on her shrewdly. 

"How is it you know about these wizards, Margaret?" He asked after a long period of waiting out her impatient silence. 

The woman sighed. "I'm a Muggle, my whole family is except for... my brother." The agent's left eyebrow arched in curiosity and she explained with a dismissive wave of her hand, "Muggles are us; the unmagical people." 

"But your brother..." he trailed off, knowing she'd continue. 

"Was a wizard. Muggle-born. He's dead. He died in 1977." She herself wasn't sure of the exact date." She lowered her head, not to keep any grief to herself, but rather to hide the unbridled anger that welled up and threatened to tear away her self control. 

"I see." 

"No, actually, you don't." 

"My dear doctor, I think you underestimate me. It is clear you harbor a great... shall we say, dislike--" 

"Hate. Loathing." 

"Quite so. For either the wizards in general or your subject in particular." He shrugged. 

"For Snape in particular." She affirmed softly. 

"I take it that is "Brandon's" real name then." 

"Yes. A killer." She smiled grimly. "Like you, I imagine. Only for the wrong side." Her voice was husky with its well ripened malevolence. 

"Ah. I see. And what, exactly, do you mean by 'for the wrong side?' Which side would that be?" 

"Not what you think. The wizards have their own battle lines. This one is drawn on blood. Snape is what they call a 'Pureblood.' With a capital 'P.' They want to terrorize and enslave the rest of us." 

"I see no evidence that they've been particularly successful. Why not?" 

"Because not everyone agrees with them and the main devil himself--." She stopped and shot a glare at the secret agent. "Even the best of them are not above manipulating other people's memories." 

"And so, nearly twenty years later, you are still able to keep up with the goings on of their community." 

"Special case. I have wizard friends, and as long as I have a subscription, I receive the _Daily Prophet."_ Preston had been very interested in that rag. The moving photographs had definitely given him a turn and Margaret had almost laughed out loud at his bemused expression. He, clearly, was a man who did not appreciate the unknown. 

"You have some idea, then, who has him." 

The blond psychiatrist released a hiss of breath from pursed lips. "That's the problem. There are two sets -- at least! -- of people who might want him. The first is the group of killers he is a part of. The second, the man he spies for." She grimaced. "I have friends who might know. But I don't know that they will tell me." 

"I'd like to meet them." 

"I'm sure you would. But it isn't possible. All that will do is have you end up with your memory erased and me without my contacts. They'd never trust me again. They fear us as well as hate us."   
  
--   
  
Albus Dumbledore was, once more, scanning the faces of his compatriots. He saw worry, exhaustion, wariness. And in the case of one, Alastor Moody, downright anger. Remus Lupin's proposal was being met with mixed feelings. Was it really necessary to involve Muggles? "I am not sure that I feel comfortable involving any non-magical people, in this, Remus. I should prefer, in fact, to keep it within the Order." 

"Well," Molly offered hesitantly, "Aren't the doctors Granger medical people?" 

"They are dentists, Molly," Minerva McGonagall replied with a shake of her head. "They work with teeth. I don't know what exactly that means, but Hermoine has a lovely smile." 

Madame Pomfrey snorted. "It means, dear, that they are dental healers. They are medical people and must at some times work with Muggle potions. At least they would know where to find out what we need to know. I think Remus' suggestion has merit." 

"I don't like the idea of involving Muggles." Moody insisted. 

"They are involved, though," Arthur pointed out. "It was Muggles who held him captive in the first place." 

"Another reason not to involve them any further. Likewise, they are not members of the Order." Moody sat back, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly satisfied with the unassailability of his argument. 

"We don't have any Muggle members." Remus retorted in exasperation. "Severus needs us to find out more. I think we owe him that." 

"We don't owe him a thing!" the old ex-Auror was almost shouting. "He's a contemptible spy who can't be trusted!" 

Albus sighed. Only his deputy headmistress heard him and she gave him a weary, commiserating glance in sympathy. This was not going well and he was still undecided. 

"Oi!" A faint shout came from upstairs. Bill Weasley's voice, not panicked, but not calm either. Lupin, nearest to the kitchen door, was first out of the room and up the first flight of stairs to the entrance hall. 

"Bill? What's wrong?" 

"Snape's being summoned!" The eldest Weasley son called down. "I cast a binding charm but I don't think he's actually trying to respond to it." 

Lupin stood aside as Poppy pushed past him, following in the wake of her billowing robes along with everyone else from the meeting. They all halted at the doorway to the bedroom as if an invisible shield held them back. Only Albus Dumbledore had the nerve to intrude into the nurse's domain. 

What he saw made him pale in dismay. Not only was the Potions Master not trying to answer the summons, he seemed to have retreated so far into the recesses of his mind as to be unaware of the burning of the symbol on his forearm. 

Perhaps it was, after all, time the wizarding world asked the Muggles for help.  
  



	8. The Substance of Shadows

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **  
_ The Substance of Shadows_

* * *

The stench of burnt flesh sullied the air, repelling any who had a choice from remaining in the semi darkened room. The man whose arm was so abused said nothing, but then no one expected him to. At least no one expected him to say anything that made any sense as he had not so much as blinked on his own volition since the burning had begun. Rather, this mind, no longer even whole enough to be deemed fragile, retreated into a hiding place so distant as to be utterly and perfectly isolated from every conceivable sense. Not to mention removed from any form of recognizable human contact. No one mentioned it. No one needed to; it was entirely obvious. Even Mad-Eye Moody kept his counsel to himself, well aware that Albus would tolerate none of his vilification of the dark spy. 

At last the summons ceased and the mark faded from coal to blistered crimson. With this release, the limp body tensed and a moan escaped the parted lips. "It's over now, dear, why don't you come back to us," Madame Pomfrey, who had not left his bedside, encouraged with practiced soothing tones. She waved her wand and muttered incantations to determine what new damage was done. 

"Pain potion?" Molly asked, not one to waste words in this dire situation. 

"I think most definitely so, Molly." The nurse answered without looking away from her patient. "There is some in my bag." 

"Anything we can do to help?" Remus asked for those who had stayed to hover at the door. 

"If only he would react. It would be so much more helpful." She administered perhaps slightly more potion than might have been strictly necessary and handed the vial back to the Weasley matriarch. "As it is, I would like to suggest he not be left alone. William," the nurse glanced back at the senior Weasley scion. "you did well to bind him, even if it did not seem as if he would try to leave." 

The young man nodded solemnly. "I can stay with him." 

"We can take shifts," Mr Weasley amended firmly, knowing his wife would not let anyone take on the task alone. "You have a job to get to, tomorrow. It wouldn't look good if you dragged yourself in with bags under your eyes. The goblins are a serious lot and I daresay they'll think you were up all night carousing." 

Bill shrugged. "Right, then. Whoever is up next can just come and relieve me." 

"What's happened?" A youthful voice inquired diffidently. 

"Harry! Ron. Ginny." Remus moved to block the youths from advancing into the room. 

"We heard all you in the hall. Why are you out here?" Harry tried to get a look inside the bedroom, but all he saw was Madame Pomfrey's heavy, flowing blue skirts leaning over the bed and Ron's mum standing helpfully alongside her. 

"Voldemort." Moody replied testily. 

"Oh." 

"Did he try to answer?" Ron asked the obvious question. 

Several sighs answered that query, piquing the curiosity of all three young people. "No, Ronald." Albus spoke slowly. "He did not."   
  
--   
  
_ The overwhelming brightness was blindingly painful and interminably unceasing. It never wavered in its strength nor in its assault upon his senses. Indeed, he felt nothing at all but this brilliant, excruciating shroud. And as much as it was bright it was also hot. Unbearably hot. So much so that all of the sweat that poured from his body evaporated instantly on contact with the hot, unmoving air. He felt not hunger nor touch, nor smelled any scent, nor heard any sound except the rasping of his own ragged breathing as he inhaled and exhaled the burning air. This did, however, make him aware of the raw agony that crawled up and down his tortured throat. But not a sound did he make. Not a cry or a whimper nor any plea for release._

_ He had forgotten that he could. He had forgotten everything but that it was bright and it hurt._

_ His head fell forward and immediately something jerked it painfully upright again, releasing an explosion that reverberated through every part of his meagre universe. It was then that he became aware of the skittering whispers. But if they said anything understandable it was only because he made up the words. And as he did not remember any words, they could not have said anything worthwhile._

_ After an immeasurable infinity of time there came darkness. A cold and eerie counterpoint to the heat. And as with the luminosity, there was nothing fathomable to hold to. Indeed, not only was there no light but no pain and that would have been blissful had he any understanding of the dichotomy of light and shadow, pain and comfort. But he did not and besides, this lack of sensation was anything but comforting. Indeed, it was frightening for now he began to wonder if he was, in fact, a thing that existed or merely a figment of some Other's imagination. A stray thought that somehow was, however improbably, aware. Random thoughts having no meaning spun him to and fro and he tried, he tried to find and identify something. Anything. And at long last he knew that he was Nothing._

_ And a long time (but neither was there any counting of time so perhaps it was not so long after all) later there was no Self._

_ "Brandon." The faint scratching within him awoke an implosion of joy. For it meant that Something _Was._ But what did it mean?! Joy became despair and he cried out._

_ The scratching echoed again, "Brandon."_

_ Ah. But he knew of this! It was the Voice. And he was Brandon. Because the Voice told him and as he was alone, he must also be the Voice._

_ But it felt. Wrong._

_ "Brandon."_

_ Please... _

"Severus? ...can't hear..." 

_ "Brandon. ...hear..?" _

_ It felt wrong!_   
  
--   
  
**Margaret sprawled beneath the fine cotton sheet, freshly laundered and smelling of spring gardens. She took a deep breath and snuggled back into her pillows, trying to release the tension that clenched her shoulders. It was all their fault. His fault. Preston (not that she really thought that was his name). Always cool. Always disdainful. Probably thought he was the prototype for James Bond. Except it would have to be the other way round since Preston was certainly much younger than the fictional character from when was it? The late fifties, early sixties?**

** Who bloody cares! "Argh!"**

** She pushed up onto her side and punched one of the pillows. "Hell." She rolled over onto her back again and let out a sigh. Very soon she slept. And sleeping, dreamt of things that she hadn't witnessed but being told of them and associating with them such great emotion had come to believe she had borne witness. "Eric," she murmured with a softness that never was heard in her voice when she was awake and in control of it.**

** Figures swarmed over the countryside, some in black flowing robes darker than any night; other in some paler hue that in the darkness of a moonless sky seemed a washed out grey. The yelled incomprehensible shouts and blasted one another with flashes of light. One of the forms in the paler robes stood out from the rest. Already she knew who it was, knew she was dreaming because she only ever dreamed in black and white. And even though she willed it different, that one man turned toward her, revealing a young man's determined grimace beneath a shock of blond hair.**

** "Eric!"**

** But he didn't or couldn't or wouldn't hear her. He was grabbing at a smaller form, this one hiding behind a mask and beneath heavy billowing robes. Eric's hand reached out toward the white, featureless face and unmasked... a boy. A scowling, evil faced, ugly, hook nosed boy.**

** The boy's hands lifted and from his palms there emitted a shocking-white light. It faded and upon the ground the handsome blond lay sprawled and lifeless while the ugly, evil boy stood silent and the stars, in utter grief over this terrible injustice, winked out of existence.**

** "Eric!"**

** Margaret woke with a scream, sitting up in bed with sweat soaked sheet twisted round her torso, and shuddering as the dream dissipated. It didn't matter if she remembered it or not, though. She knew it for what it was; her brother's demand for vengeance.**

--   
  
"Severus?" Bill Weasley frowned at the stiffened, sweat slicked, body shivering beneath the rumpled sheets. The Potions Masters' eyes were firmly shut but the lids pulsed with whatever nightmare he was suffering. The young man felt a touch on his arm. He jerked, but it was only Remus Lupin come to relieve him. 

"Leave him be, Bill. He can't hear us," the werewolf said 

"It really stinks, you know," the young red head muttered. "Part of me pities him but part of me wants to tell him he brought it on himself. All of them did." He looked unhappy. "I want this war over. Before Fleur and I have children of our own, I want this war over." 

Remus could only tighten his hand on the other's shoulder in silent sympathy. "Something to work toward," he replied softly. 

"Have they finished talking downstairs?" 

"Yes. We're going to ask the Grangers for help. At least in so far as finding out about these Muggle potions poisoning Severus. As far as the other topics, nothing new. Try to get as many of those at greatest risk under watch if not hidden, strengthen the wards at Hogwarts and Hogsmeade as well, try to keep tabs on known Death Eaters. They've gotten bold and the Ministry gets weaker and weaker. Find out what the summoning tonight was about." Not another attack. Please not another one. 

"I can't believe the "Burrow" is... gone." Bill's voice broke. 

Remus patted his shoulder comfortingly again. "It's not gone, Bill, not for good. There's enough of the original building--" 

"To rebuild, I know. It's just... It was so close! Mum and Dad don't say anything but... We almost lost them!" 

There was no answer for that. Remus just stayed by hoping that his presence renewed the younger man's fortitude and resilience. At last he did speak again. "Time to go home, Bill. Get some sleep."   
  
--   
  



	9. The Twain Do Meet part I

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

The Twain Do Meet I

* * *

Remus Lupin entered the clinic with some trepidation, not knowing if either of the Doctors Granger would remember his name as one of the professors -- albeit past professor, now -- at Hogwarts. Of if even knowing that, they would relent to seeing him without fussing about appointments. But then he caught sight of a thatch of bushy brown hair and his worry was set aside. Only to re-emerge for a different reason. Hermoine was sitting at the receptionist's desk, eyes glued to a book laying open in front of her. 

Lupin moved forward and cleared his throat causing the girl to look up with an expression that was at once startled and embarrassed. She recognized him at once, however, and a smile blossomed that made her fairly glow with pleasure. "Professor!" Her eyes widened as some awful thought occurred to her. "Is Harry all right?" 

"Yes, Harry is fine. He's visiting with the Weasleys now." 

"Oh! Yes, I read about the attack on the "Burrow" in the _Daily Prophet._" Her voice dropped even though there were no patients waiting. "It was Death Eaters, wasn't it?" 

Lupin nodded. "But they're staying somewhere safe, now, Hermoine." Without preamble he changed the subject. "I am here to speak with your parents, if I might." 

Hermoine blinked at the sudden change in topic. Her mind running at light speed as always, though she didn't have much information to work with yet. "Mum's with a patient, but Dad is free." She hesitated and made a gamble. "I didn't know wizards went to Muggle dentists, professor." 

The werewolf smiled, knowing her game. "They don't, Hermoine. This is a special matter." He let the smile waver and fall away to his most serious look. "It's very important." 

"I'll get him, sir." She slid out of the chair and hurried into the back office. Very quickly, she returned with a tall, athletically built man who looked to be slightly older that Remus. Like his daughter, he had thick brown hair and eyes full of curiosity. 

"Professor Lupin, is it?" 

Remus shook his head. "Just Lupin, sir. I am no longer teaching at Hogwarts." 

"Yes, I recall... But Hermoine assured me your classes were well worth taking. We were, of course, pleased with her grades. But she says you are here for another reason. She seems to think it somewhat urgent." He cast a look at his daughter, who nodded firmly as if in answer to an unasked question. 

Remus took a deep breath. No help for it now. Muggles were involved. But as it was Muggles who often bore some of the Dark Lord's most horrific actions, it really could not have ever been said that they had never not been involved. "I don't know how much you know about Lord Voldemort--" 

"Enough, Mr Lupin. I'd say we know enough. No doubt more than most other Muggles." He smirked at the younger man's look of surprise. "Our daughter is a witch going to school to learn to use her talents. Of course we know what's going on. We know about young Mr Diggory, about the whole Triwizard Competition fiasco. If you've come for some kind of help, then you should know we'd give it. Your world is no more safe than mine, sir. I'd like to change that." 

Lupin clutched the folder under his arm tightly. "What do you know about the Order--" 

"--of the Phoenix. Headmaster Dumbledore's group. Only what Hermoine has told us. If there were things she wasn't meant to speak about then be assured she did not speak of them. We raised our daughter to keep her word." 

"I see." Was it really going to be this easy? Just then the front door opened and a young woman in cut off jeans and a tight, short sleeve T-shirt entered. Dragging along with her were two young children, no more than four or five years of age. She looked around with the unfamiliarity of someone for whom this was a first visit. 

"We've got an appointment with the lady dentist," she said with the bravado of someone who was quite nervous. 

"Dr Granger will be with you in a moment, she is with someone at present but should not be much longer," the male Dr Granger replied. "Hermoine will take care of you." Hermoine scowled at her father, but turned charming when she brought over a clipboard and pen to the very young mother. "Mr Lupin, if you would come this way..." He led his guest to the more private area of his office. 

"So, what is it you wizards need of a Muggle dentist then?" He asked once the door had closed behind them. 

"I'm afraid it's nothing to do with dentistry. Rather, it's your closeness to being healers as well as that you are Hermoine's parents." Remus trailed off, not quite certain how to explain the Order's predicament. "If you could take a look at these," he held out the folder. "Our healer hasn't much experience with Muggle po-- erm I mean drugs -- and we need to know what these things are. The ones marked in green ink, especially." 

The man accepted the folder, and slipping on a pair of glasses, scanned the pages quickly first. Then more carefully, flipping back and forth humming the occasional growl of immersed thought, while his guest waited with ill hidden tension. 

"Sedatives, a muscle relaxer, some common enough psychotropics. What is this about?" 

"One of our colleagues went missing over the summer. We located him two days ago in a mental insititution. This is the file they gave us." 

"Gave you?" The dentist's interest was clearly piqued. 

"Erm... yes. Well, they thought he was being transferred, didn't they." 

Dr Granger's left eyebrow arched upwards. "Quite. So, what is the problem?" 

"Our colleague is... unwell." 

The left eyebrow arched again and Remus took it as a sign to explain this perhaps somewhat cryptic seeming statement. "That is, he's all but lifeless. He is, you see, a Pureblood; they don't necessarily react to Muggle, er, drugs as the rest of us would. But we aren't certain that perhaps his reaction is normal for whatever they were giving him. If that's so, we'd like to know how long before these drugs cease being effective." 

"By 'lifeless' I take you to mean he is unconscious?" 

"No. More like ... he doesn't seem to be aware of anything or anyone most of the time. Ah, and he has a fever that is proving recalcitrant to treatment." 

None of the notations here mention adverse reactions to any of these drugs. Indeed, it seems he was brought in ... ah, here., catatonic." Granger looked up. "Do you know what that means?" 

Lupin shook his head, 'no.' 

"I think it may fit your description of lifeless... although, hmph, he had a number of violent episodes and had to be forcibly restrained... I don't recognize this drug..." The mystery had him now, Granger slid into the seat behind his desk and tapped on the keyboard laying there. "Do you know what a computer is, Mr Lupin?" 

Remus gave a small, rueful smile. "Yes, but not how to use one. I am part Muggle, but most of my life has been spent in the wizard world." 

"Well, watch and learn, Mr Lupin. We are going to do a little reseach. Pull up a chair..." 

Half an hour later, they were still at it when a soft tap brought the two men back to earth. "Dad?" Hermoine called from the other side of the door, "Mrs. Abernathy is here." 

"Oh! Quite right! Fifteen minutes love. Tell her I'm with an emergency and I will be just another fifteen minutes." 

A sigh. Then. "Okay, but it _is_ Mrs Abernathy." Meaningfully. 

Granger bark a short laugh. "Do her good to sit a bit. Give her the Dog Fancier magazine we just got in." He looked over at the wizard. "Nothing so far that should account for your man's catatonia, that I can see. But look, he might well have been given something _not_ in this report by whomever had him earlier. The date of his admission does not coincide with his dropping out of sight." 

"So none of this may be responsible?" Remus sighed, sounding much like a deflated tire slowly losing its air. 

"A blood test could prove helpful." 

"What?" 

Granger stared thoughtfully at Remus then shook his head. "I rather doubt any of you lot know how to take a blood sample. Give me an address and I'll stop by later--" 

"It's not possible. I mean I can't. I mean... The place where we are staying is warded. You'd never find it..." Remus scowled. "I can, however, take you there." 

"Good enough, Mr Lupin..."   
  
--   
  
The woman who strode into The Leaky Cauldron was not a witch. But neither did she seem entirely out of place although it shocked everyone who heard when she calmly ordered a butterbeer. She took her drink and paused, looking around until she spied Alastor Moody sitting in a forlorn corner, his back against the wall. She smirked unsurprised at his choice of location. No longer hesitant, she picked her way over and sat down at the other empty chair. "Alastor," she greeted, lifting her mug in a salute. 

"Margaret Alice." he returned the greeting with equal aplomb. "How are you doing these days?" 

"I'm well. I still take the _Daily Prophet._ Interesting reading at times." 

Moody snorted derisively. 

"They seem a tad wary of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." She politely did not say the name out loud, mindful of the superstitious wizards' sensitivities. "At least _your_ Ministry admits he's back. Ours says nothing. Surely they must know." 

The older wizard shrugged. "Who can say? I'm not exactly privy to the dealings between our Minister of Magic and your Prime Minister." he gave her a hard look. "Is that why you contacted me? I can't give you any reassurances, girl. I've retired." 

"Retired? You? I would not have thought it. But surely you are involved in the fight, at least as a consultant! 

"Alas, only as a consultant. Although they've a foolish tendency to ignore my advice." 

" 'Constant vigilence?' " she quoted with a smile. "Eric would often repeat that phrase and always ascribed it to you." 

"Good man, he was too. One of the best I've ever worked with. I'd wish he were here now. But he isn't and you should be getting on with your own life." 

"I am! I have been! But we Muggles are part of this. That man wants to kill us all! How can you sit there and ask me to pretend there's nothing to worry about? I want to help." 

"I know you do, Margaret Alice and you are a fine woman to make this offer... But we have healers enough for now. The War hasn't gotten that far out of hand. With luck, it won't. But that depends on others, not you or me, I'm afraid." The ragged old man looked even more disgruntled and a gloomy shadow passed over his face. "You and I, we are at best pawns, at worst victims." 

She held back. It was Alastor who had let slip that the boy would not be given the Dementor's Kiss all those years ago; Alastor who had let slip that the man was teaching -- _teaching!_ at Hogwarts. But he had never been one of her closer friends or confident. She held back and only sighed in defeat. "It's not fair that your people have to do all the work of protecting us." 

The old man grunted. "He's ours and so our responsibility to deal with him." He drained the last of his firewhiskey and stood, looking at the door with his mad eye. "I see your friends are coming now. Wish them a good day for me." 

"You won't stay?" 

"No, I've got errands to run." He patted her arm. "You be good." 

He left via the back way. 

Three wizards and a witch got drinks from the bar and then collected at a table already occupied by a Muggle dressed woman with short blond hair and a scowl. 

"So. You've lost the Pureblood." The witch whispered in a disgruntled tone... 


	10. Memory Lane

Thank you for reading and thank you reviewrs! I appreciate the questions you ask as they do make me think and consider thing I might not have otherwise. I am posting as fast as I can! At some point (when it's finished), I expect to go back and beta myself. But that shouldn't be for a while I fear. 

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.  
  


**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Memory Lane

* * *

"I haven't lost--" Margaret Sellinger cut herself off. Well, yes she had lost him. She had thought him safely ensconced in a large, impersonal, understaffed, mental institution. Who would have thought some idiot would decide to run a feature on the 'state of mental health care for the indigent in the UK' of all things! "Yes, well. I want him back. It was wizards who took him. Who?" 

"Not the ministry. We'd have heard. Fudge would have made a huge example of him, I should think." one of the wizards, a tall ruddy strawberry blond who wore a neatly trimmed beard to offset the growing baldspot at his crown. 

"Not necessarily, Raoul" the witch countered. "But that's neither here nor there. She wants the Pureblood back." 

"Can't use someone else, I suppose," one of the other wizards, Travers, a steel eyed man with greying sand colored hair and a thin goatee countered. He had his hands in the sleeves of his robes and wasn't drinking the butterbeer in front of him. 

"No. No one else. _He_ killed Eric and _he_ will pay. Besides, he's perfect for the project." 

"I'm not sure I trust your government to use this... weapon wisely." 

"But I'm supposed to trust yours?" 

"Point taken, Margaret. But we got him for you once at great risk to ourselves." 

"I know. But who else can I turn to? You are-were his friends. And this is as much for Eric as it is for... for the Muggle world." 

The witch, a grey eyed blonde, reached out a comforting hand. "For Eric. The inbred bastard deserves whatever the Muggles do to him." 

"Alastor is the key. He knows something." Sellinger offered softly, trying to nudge the conversation in a more fruitful direction. 

"I agree. He's been terribly active for an old pensioner." Raoul took the bait. "But he's not senile yet and he's got that damnable eye." 

"Think of it as a challange, old man!" Travers laughed. 

A deep, somber voice overrode the rest. "We'll do it Margaret Alice," the third wizard, who had not yet spoken finally joined the conversation. "For Eric. But you will be indebted to us." He favored her with a cold, steely eyed look. "Eric was my partner and I am ready to make an end of this obligation to his memory. I expect the Pureblood to be destroyed. I want to move on with my life." 

"I promise you, Merritt. He will be destroyed." She took the wizard's rough hand in hers and squeezed reassuringly. 

"We'll contact you," Raoul assured her. 

Margaret left first, returning to the mundane world of Muggle London. The first thing she did was go into the nearest bar and start drinking. Not firewhiskey of course. But Muggle whiskey was good enough. Two men came in and sat down at her table without invitation. 'Preston' and 'Lou.' 

"Gentlemen." 

"Well?" 

"They will contact me. My brother's ex-partner is even more anxious than I to get things moving." 

"When they contact you--" 

"You will be the first to know." She knew they had bugged her apartment and office and probably her lab as well. She didn't care. Wizards were not going to use the telephone! 

The two men rose and left without another word. Margaret waited about ten miunutes, nursing the single shot of liquor, before making her own unhurried exit. 

At home, she stripped, letting the blouse and trausers fall where they would on her bedroom floor, then drew a bath, adding a series of salts and scents. Bra and panties came off in the bathroom. She lowered herself slowly into the slightly too hot bath. Once acclimated she relaxed and let her memories flow to the surface of her thoughts, knowing full well it would stir her hatred of the boy who had been allowed to become a man.   
  
-- 

The Leaky Cauldron was dark and nearly deserted that evening, she remembered. They sat at a table in one of the private rooms, three wizards, a witch, and a muggle, firewhiskeys and other drinks before each one of them. No one was drinking. 

"You know we are not supposed to discuss it with you," Travers, a much younger Travers, was saying. he leaned back and Margaret had to notice he seemed relaxed. Was she the only one still mourning Eric's demise? Twenty-two months was a long time but not so long that she had lost any of her passionate grief. 

"So his death was connected to his being an Auror?" 

"Oh quite, that was never in question, Margaret." 

"But you must know these things are rarely made public," Raoul added. "Especially not outside of the wizarding world." 

"But you will tell me about it?" 

"Merritt will. He was there. We feel you deserve to know." Nyssa, the witch replied. 

Merritt, she recalled, arrived very soon after that, looking a tad harried and unusually disheveled. He sat, and gave her a weary yet sympathetic smile. "Margaret. You are well, I hope," he greeted warmly. 

She nodded. "As well as I can be." 

"Indeed." He leaned forward toward her. "Are you certain you want to know this?" 

"Yes! Yes, I need to know! I can't stand it. I must know how he died." 

"And who killed him." They had known and not told her! "I should imagine you would like to know that as well. If I thought there would be justice, I'd never tell you. But there won't be. My partner is dead and the killer is going to be let out of Askaban-- Do you know of Azkaban, Margaret?" 

She shook her head. She'd worn her hair in a neat bob then and it had danced when she moved. 

"It's a wizard prison. Even more isolated than Devil's Island. The worst offenders are sent there. We no longer practice capital punishment, although I would not mind it if we did. But some would say Azkaban makes up for it by being guarded by Dementors." BEfore she could ask he was already explaining, "Dementors have a humanoid appearance in that they have two arms, two legs, head, torso. But they are not human and likely never were. They soak up all but the very worst of the basest emotions. They take the good ones first. Oh yes, and the memories that go with them. Gone. A prisoner is left with only terror and whatever horrors are within themselves. They are, quite effectively, driven completely mad. And then, there is the Kiss. The Dementors Kiss draws out the very soul and leaves behind a shell. Not even the best psychiatrist could bring them back," he sneered. 

"If there was justice, that boy would have got the Kiss. As it is, he rots in Azkaban, and not even for that crime, but for another. But it will be only temporary. Albus Dumbledore has seen fit to become involved." 

"That name sounds familar... he was a teacher at the wizarding school. How does he matter? What differnce--?" 

"When we were there he was Transfiguration professor. He's since become the Headmaster. But he is, in fact, so much more imprtant than that." 

Margaret had put two and two together and come up with the wrong answer. "Is he You-Know-Who?" she gasped. 

The wizards had all laughed mirthlessly at that. Raoul answered with a shake of his head. "Most assuredly not. But he does poke his nose in where it doesn't belong." 

"For all his wisdom and experiance," Travers added ruefully, "He is more than a tad naive." 

Merritt retook command of the conversation, "Margaret, there's a war on. A war between good and evil, most certainly. But it is also political. The old families, that is, the old Purebloods, see the rest of us, the Muggle-born, as an infringement on their power. They grow weaker and fewer while we grow stronger and more prolific. I would not begrudge them a place, but not all of them accept this change of fortune." 

"Not all the old wizard families, of course," Travers hastened to add, "But the important ones, at least." 

"The boy who killed your brother is a Pureblood. With luck and as far as I know, the last of his line. His line is well known for their connections to the Dark Arts -- a vile family if ever there was one. His initiation into the Dark Lord's fold included the murder of your brother. His name, though it will mean nothing to you now, is Severus Snape. Whatever happens, he is who you will want to watch."   
  
---- 


	11. The Twain Do Meet part II

Thank you for reading and even more, thanks to my reviewers!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

The Twain Do Meet Part II 

* * *

Remus Lupin apparated to an ally near the Tube and used Muggle transportation to get to his destination. Moody had reminded him that it was better to be safe than tracked by Death Eaters. _Constant Vigilance!_ Not wanting to get into an argument with the older wizard he decided that it couldn't hurt to follow the ex-Auror's advice. It was still bright when he arrived at the clinic, but there were no more patients and Hermoine was standing just inside the door watching for him. She unlocked the door and ushered him inside. She wore a concerned look that made her seem far older than mere teens. 

He smiled as much in greeting as in an effort to alleviate her anxiety. "Are you coming as well, Hermoine? I'm sure Harry and Ron would be very glad to see you; and Ginny too." 

"Oh! Yes, yes, I'd like that. Mum and Dad are just inside," she gestured and led him back to the inner office. 

The senior Grangers looked up from the computer screen. "Look here, I think your Death Eaters have made the evening news." 

"What?" Remus angled in for a better look. There was some sort of moving picture in a small window superimposed on the bigger window, "What is this?" 

"Video feed. 'Small village in the north suffered major loss of life when local petrol station exploded for no reason, earlier today' " Hermoine's father read. " 'Local amateur captures images on video camera.' Watch." There was silence as a green cloud emerged over the dark soot of the earlier explosion. It slowly coalesced into a skull with a snake emerging from-- 

The image looped back to the start. "No one's commented on it, though." Granger sounded confused. 

"They don't see it. Muggles mostly ignore magical incidents completely automatically. 

"Grace and I are Muggles, even if Hermoine isn't." 

"Ah well. You know better. Are you ready?" 

"Quite." The man picked up a small case. 

"Mum, dad, Harry and Ron are there. I'd like to go with, please." 

"Well..." Hermoine's mother glanced at the computer screen looking very uncertain. 

"I can assure you that the safe house is very much that. More than safe even, it has been magically hidden with one of the most powerful charms--" 

"The boys are there? And other adults?" 

"Most assuredly, Dr. Granger." 

"Very well, Hermoine. Please be careful, though." 

The Grangers shared a quick kiss. Remus took Hermoine's hand and Dr Granger's and apparated with the underage witch and her Muggle father to the same spot as he and Madame Pomfrey had done when they had retrieved Snape. "It's a tad run down," he tried to warn the other man, "but you should have seen it when we first got here!" He hustled them to the door which opened at his request. 

Mrs Weasley had been pacing the entrance hall and was right there to greet them with a smile of genuine affection. The portrait of Mrs Black, however, greeted the three with shrieks of rage and insults until Molly Weasley smacked her frame with a stirring ladle. "Sorry about that," she apologized without registering Dr Granger's complete shock at encountering a talking -- well, screaming in this case -- painting. "We have got to get that thing removed. Hermoine! Everyone is down in the kitchen. Doctor Granger, I'll take you upstairs." 

Remus shared an amused wink with Hermoine, but followed Molly and Granger up to Snape's room. Not unexpectedly, the room was quite dim. Sitting beside the bed, coaxing yet another potion tainted tea into her patient, was Madam Pomfrey. She looked up, giving the man a speculative once over before she rose to greet the Muggle healer with a polite nod. "I am Poppy Pomfrey, Hogwarts' school nurse. I must admit, I've never seen a blood letting," she didn't seem very enthusiastic about seeing one now. "I'm told that method of healing hasn't been practiced by Muggles for several hundred years! You won't be taking too much, though. " 

Poor Granger looked very askance at this suggestion. "This is not 'blood letting,' Madame Pomfrey. I am just going to remove a small amount of blood with a syringe to have it tested." 

The witch gave him somewhat disbelieving look. "I know you Muggles use syringes to introduce your potions directly into the veins and muscles. I had no idea you used them to withdraw blood as well. But of course it does follow. A draw instead of a push. I shall observe. Severus _is_ my patient after all." 

Granger smiled weakly and moved further into the room. He was quite visibly startled at the appearance of the man in the bed. "I'll need more light," he requested barely above a whisper. 

_"Lumos,"_ Molly obliged him without comment, bringing up to full the sconces on the wall, and went to stand next to Poppy on the far side of the bed. Remus merely stayed out of the way. 

Dark eyes stared out disconcertingly at nothing, but as the man moved in, the obsidian stare seemed to settle on the encroaching figure. A faint expression of concern almost appeared on the gaunt face. 

"Now then, erm... I'm not going to hurt you, well actually that's not strictly true, ah... I'll just get on with it, shall I?" 

Molly exchanged an uncomfortable look with Poppy. "You've not done this much, have you?" 

Granger had his case open and his head was bowed, looking inside. "I'm a dentist. We don't actually have much cause to draw blood. Really a nurse... erm, a regular nurse or a technician would have been a better choice. But I understand you don't have that option." He looked up, having located everything he needed, and began laying things out on the nearby bedside table. "I'll need a vein." He turned toward the man and brought his arm out from under the covers. There was no resistance, not even the slightest tensing of muscle. A look of horror passed over the man's face as he beheld the scars that disfigured the pale skin. But he caught himself and regained his professional mask. There was not even the slightest reaction when he wrapped and tightened the plastic tube around the pale arm so as to force a vein to protrude. There clearly was no sense asking this Severus fellow to make a fist. He swabbed the whole area with alcohol soaked gauze. 

There was an intense silence while the Muggle dentist tried to find or force a vein. Minutes passed and he was getting a bit concerned. The scarred flesh was more than a little disturbing and he was no longer so sanguine about the wizarding world that was claiming his only child. But he left that train of thought knowing it was too late to force her back. Not mention, he'd now involved himself and why couldn't he get a vei--? "Got one!" he muttered at last. He brought the needle up. 

Mindless cooperation disintegrated with a sharp cry as Snape contorted and pulled himself away from the glass and metal gleaming evilly at him. Dark eyes widened with terror, held fascinated by the thin weapon. His voice, little more than a hoarse croak, screamed wordless protestations while uncoordinated limbs flailed violently. A terrified _"No!"_ echoed just before a crack of thunder pealed and lightning inundated the room. 

Granger, Lupin, Pomfrey, Weasley, all became projectiles unable to control their violent flight.   
  
--   
  
_ The tranquility of nothingness writhed weakly once again as grey shapes impinged on his awareness. He didn't care. He didn't look. He accepted they were there and would go away if he didn't bother acknowledging them. He tasted something bitter and it almost grabbed his attention, but just in time did he remember that he wanted nothing to do with the Outside. The Other might be there and though he was certain there was nothing else that existed but himself. he did not want to disturb the peace that was his existence now._

_ But that was not to be, for after some time (which he didn't measure after all time did not exist) something sharp invaded his grim tranquility. Something that glittered and threatened to destroy Everything in a blinding surge of agony --_

_ "No!" Away! Go away!_

_ He shoved the attacking Paingiver away with every iota of his being._   
  
-- 

"Ouch." Remus opened his eyes to find himself squashed in an ungainly sprawl against the hallway wall. He'd been flung clear out of the room! 

"What... What happened?" Dr Granger's voice wobbled as did his legs when he picked himself gingerly up from the floor . His head was pounding and he was surprised to find himself near the wall next to the room's door. He felt someone take his arm and he forced his eyes to focus on Hermoine looking fearfully up into his face. He patted her head and winced. "I'm all right... What was that?!" He squinted at the unsteady forms of Madame Pomfrey and Mrs Weasley, though he wasn't quite sure what was accounting for the swaying; their own unsteadiness or the spinning room. 

"Wandless magic, that was." Tonks explained brightly. Everyone in the house was trying to cram into the small room. 

"Ugh" grunted Remus. "Molly, Poppy--?" 

"They're a bit stunned," the young Auror told him. "Much like you and Doctor Granger." Chairs had been conjured or transfigured and all four of the victims were being settled into them. 

"I don't think I even got near... Where's the syringe?" 

"I saw something flash near your hand," Molly said weakly. "I think it's disintegrated." She tried to smile at Ron who was leaning over her looking quite worried and not a little put out at the attack. "You are not going to try that again, are you?" 

"Erm... Not unless we can sedate him!" Hermoine's dad answered fervently. 

It was Ginny who noticed the professor seemed again oblivious though he was twisted and tangled in the bedclothes as if he'd been hexed by an entrapment spell that hadn't gone off quite right. "He looks like he doesn't know what he did." She said with a frown. 

"He doesn't, dear," Madame Pomfrey assured, her voice back to its unwavering timbre. she took a deep breath and looked around the disheveled room. "It would seem that most of the fury was directed towards Remus and Doctor Granger." She observed. 

"More like the needle." Remus said shaking his head. That wasn't smart, but it could have been worse. The room had been beginning to settle down before that. 

Footsteps suddenly came clumping up the stairs. Arthur Weasley, back from his long day at the Ministry poked his head in and frowned at the gathering. "What's all this, then?" he moved over to Molly's side and bent to give her a concerned little kiss. 

"Professor Snape didn't want his blood removed, Dad," Ginny explained characteristic terseness. "He did wandless magic. We heard downstairs!" 

"Bloody shook this house on its foundations, I should think!" Granger added. 

"So now what? We can't give up--" 

"Oh no, of course not, Remus, and I don't know why we didn't think of this before, Poppy. We'll just put him to sleep." Molly rose and moved over to the bed. She brought out her wand and touched it to Snape's temple. _"Dormio"_ she murmured gently. The dark unexpressive eyes closed and the Potions Master's body relaxed. 

Dr Granger managed to successfully get several vials of blood though he wasn't as proficient as someone more properly practiced would be and he managed to push the needle a little too far, "Going to bruise there," he muttered. But Madame Pomfrey tutted and said something about fixing it up when he was through. He labeled each vial and let the nurse disintegrate the used needle. "Now we just need to get this to the lab and back." No one could helb but notice how relieved the man was now that the task was finished. 


	12. Overnight Express and Other Deliberation...

Thank you for reading! Ok, honestly, I'm not quite happy with this chapter, but it is time to update. :)

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Overnight Express and Other Deliberations 

* * *

Nymphadora Tonks was sufficiently well versed in Muggle culture that she was easily able to play the role of a medical supplies courier. In this case a courier from one of London's smaller general clinics with a package of recently drawn blood needing immediate analysis. True it was late in the day. But the hours of operation of this particular up and coming lab had been a deciding factor in its choice. That and the fact that it was not the regular lab the used by the clinic Dr Granger was associated with. The possibility of a new account was not one the laboratory wanted to dismiss and so they were almost eager to take on the job. 

The (now brown haired) courier, Tonks, lazily watched the night shift personnel come in while waiting for the receptionist to find her pen (it had been just right in front of her a moment ago!) in order to sign for the delivery of the blood for testing. She made her choice very quickly and, amazingly very shortly, after that the receptionist uncovered the missing writing implement under a small pile of folders. The woman grinned sheepishly and signed the receipt. She was not at all concerned when the courier asked for the ladies room and directed her without a second thought. Indeed, her thoughts were on the impending close of her shift. 

Tonks hid out in the Ladies for a sufficiently long time that shifts had changed and surely the woman had long since left. But the woman who had gone in was not the one who came out. Rather, it was a stouter almost mannish woman with a faraway expression of intense rumination, dressed in trousers and linen blouse topped by a crisp white labcoat, badge clipped professionally onto the jacket collar. She went back into the inner domain of the lab and no one said anything if they noticed at all. As long as she looked like she belonged, no one would say anything. People were like that. It seemed a universal trait and good thing for her it was. She let herself into an unlit office and was content to bide her time. 

Much, much later, Tonks opened her eyes to find that darkness had long since settled and she had fallen asleep in the not altogether uncomfortable chair behind the desk. She got to her feet, pausing to stretch out the kinks that had set in. _"Lumos,"_ she said softly as she held up her wand. A faint light resulted and she was able to read the time from the clock on the wall. Two O'clock, it said. More or less. She extinguished the light and hid her wand up her sleeve, then left the office, heading back out to the front desk, an expression of mild annoyance pasted on her face. 

She found a uniformed guard manning the post now. The front doors were locked, so that anyone coming would have to use the doorchime to be let in. The guard looked bored and he was reading a paperback book with a great deal of intense concentration. The older, mannish woman walked up to him and cleared her throat. He looked up, somewhat contrite to have been caught less than completely alert. 

"Has the Granger file come out yet?" She asked schooling her voice to a slightly bored alto. 

"Erm..." The young man scanned through a short stack of folders, pulling one out, "Yes..." and as the woman was holding out her hand, promptly gave it to her without question. 

Tonks let her wand slide into her hand raising it toward the somewhat startled man. _"Obliviate,"_ she whispered and then returning the wand to its hiding place and tucking the folder under her arm, bid the young man a loud and friendly 'goodnight' as she left the building. 

Hidden by night she transformed back into herself (or as close to herself as she was wont) and, smiling in self satisfaction, disapperated. 

Grimmauld place was dark and quiet. As run down as it had become, it had yet to degrade into a slum full of bars and derelicts. It was poor but had once been quite posh. She mused occasionally that it was probably number 12 which had precipitated the decline. She walked down the street stopping at a point which seemed as devoid of life as a vacant lot. She turned away from the street and looked hard. Then she walked up the steps that had suddenly solidified into reality and slipped inside the house she knew was there and could only really see if she willed it. 

Silence reigned. Even the portrait of Mrs Black was silent as if in sleep. She didn't really think anyone would be up and about, and not wanting to leave the report laying about, she decided to leave it in Snape's room. In his condition there was bloody little chance he'd even notice it, much less read it. 

Halfway up the stairs she heard a voice floating down to her. She halted and strained to hear it. "... traitor like you, eh. Think this will take care of..." Mad-Eye. But who was he talking to? In Snape's room, yet. She ran up the stairs and in so doing accomplished a feat few else could manage. She tripped _up_ the stairs. Skinning her knee she barked out a cry of pain and the talking ceased. Then Moody's head poked out of the room and he glared -- what nerve! -- at her. 

She blushed. "Wotcher Moody" she greeted pretending nothing at all had happened as she finished climbing the stairs. 

"Tonks." 

They stared at one another for a few moments. 

"So." She said. "You're on Snape watch, then." 

"Somebody needs to." 

The young Auror snorted. "As if he'd go anywhere." 

"Constant Vigilance, Miss Tonks," the old grizzled man reminded her sternly, the way a teacher would a student. 

"Yeah." 

"That the results of the Muggle tests, then?" He nodded toward the folder under her arm and reached out his hand. 

Her eyebrows rose. 

"Madame Pomfrey--" 

"Will see them in the morning." 

Tonks shrugged and handed over the file. Mad-Eye flipped through the pages, his frown becoming increasingly more irritated with each page he moved past. Tonks grinned to herself briefly, quickly wiping it off in favor of a more studied expression. "Can't read it?" She asked innocently. 

He growled. "Of course I can read it. It just isn't English. Blasted Muggles!" 

Tonks stifled a laugh. "Just leave it for Poppy." She took it out of his hands and walked past him into Snape's room. The room was not completely dark, several candles were burning, giving off a dull yellow glow. In the right setting it would have been conducive to rather different an ambiance than the eeriness that permeated this room. The Potions Master was surely asleep, as his quiet breathing, shallow and regular, so indicated. She watched in silence wishing she knew what was going on in Alastor Moody's mind. But he wasn't going to be forthcoming, that was obvious. He was going to just stand there waiting for her to leave. She sighed and turned about. "I'm going home. I have to report to the Ministry in a few hours and I'd love some sleep first." She didn't want to stay here. The house never failed to stir up unwanted thoughts of murder and mayhem. Sirius would have done better to raze the place and the Order could do with a more positive location as its headquarters. "Good night, Alastor." 

Nymphadora Tonks went home to bed never knowing that a second copy of the report existed and had been placed on the supervisor's desk, specific passages marked in highlighter yellow. Nor could she know that he would forward yet other copies to a special office of the National Health Service and that they, in turn, would forward copies to certain, very specific offices of the Mi5 and Mi6 and that word would trickle down to Dr Margaret Sellinger that someone was analyzing the very special drugs and chemicals she had developed to break the will of even the most powerful wizard. 

Tonks actually made it to work on time the next morning, arriving just ahead of another Auror, a senior Auror not quite as old as Mad-Eye, but he'd been around since before the first war. He barely nodded to his younger colleague before striding down the hall to an office he shared with three other seniors. 

Said senior rarely Auror paid any attention to his somewhat clumsy younger colleague. He'd decided that the main reason she was part of the force was her metamorph abilities. (He always thought it a shame that talent had been wasted on such an ungraceful witch. Oh well, one couldn't argue with nature, he supposed.) He was the last of the four to arrive at their shared office, the others already having tea and discussing their personal case. He'd just come off tailing Mad-Eye Moody; he was tired and more than a bit out of sorts. He'd followed the retired Auror to Grimmauld Place. And lost him. He was angry with himself for that; he was not some novice, but an experienced and more than capable agent who could tail any wizard, even one as talented and paranoid as Mad-Eye. So how had he lost the old codger? He knew with absolute certainty that he had not been seen. How had he managed to lose Moody? And why, after several hours, had he been unable to find any trace of the wizard? 

The conversation died as the others watched him fume, practically slamming his mug on his desk. No one wanted to ask what was wrong no matter how curious they were. They waited with studied patience. 

"I lost Mad-Eye," Merritt said instead of a standard 'good morning.' 

"Ah." Raoul said. 

"It happens," Nyssa shrugged. 

"Not to me!" 

The others rolled their eyes. No one dared say the obvious. In fact, no one said anything for several minutes. 

"Whereabouts?" Traverse finally asked. 

"Grimmauld Place." 

"Hm." 

"I say, didn't I follow old Mundungus over that way the other day." Raoul said thoughtfully. 

"You think Amd-Eye is interested in something Fletcher is up to?" Nyssa asked clearly unconvinced. 

"What else could it be? Mad-Eye might be paranoid but he's not a fool." 

"He's suppoed to be retired," the witch wore a disapproving scowl. 

"Lucky for our side retirement to Mad-Eye just means more time to follow up leads and not have to bother with writing reports," Traverse grinned. 

"I'll talk to Moody." Merritt volunteered. "If anyone knows anything about Snape it will be Mad-Eye. He was almost as furious as I was, when Dumbledore manuvered that bloody Death Eater out of Azkaban." 

"Just remember, Mad-Eye did refuse to help Margaret Alice. He'd not necessarily approve of our doings." 


	13. And So It Goes

Thank you for your encouragement. Next chapter is well in the works.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

And So It Goes 

* * *

Morning arrived and with it Poppy Pomfrey, or it might have been the other way around. Whichever it was, it did seem that both appeared at Number twelve Grimmauld Place pretty much at the same time. Arthur was on his way to the Ministry just as the Hogwarts nurse was sweeping down the walkway to the front door. The balding red head dipped his head and called a polite 'good morning,' but didn't stop to chat. 

The nurse, for her part, hardly noticed and if she thought anything of the tense look on the normally cheerful man's face, she put it down to the stress all of them were suffering under. The door creeped open for her when she muttered the password and she winced at the screech of Mrs Black's portrait that was already resounding shrilly throughout the house. 

A sharp whack of a broom handle struck the portrait's frame. "I'll take a knife to your canvas if you don't shut it!" Molly Weasley shouted to the tatty black drapery that shrouded the painting. The noise ceased. Mrs Weasley nodded in satisfaction and turned as the rustling of Poppy's skirts was now able to catch her attention. She smiled at the older witch. "Good morning Poppy." 

"Good morning, Molly" the nurse greeted in return. "That portrait needs a good scouring." 

"Dratted thing is charmed to the wall, otherwise it would be gone by now!" 

"Albus can't do anything about it?" 

"It appears not," Molly sighed in frustration. "We are working on it, though." She pointedly raised her voice a little, and sounding quite dangerous added, "It shan't be bothering us much longer, though, I am quite certain!" 

The painting was silent. 

The two witches snickered softly in conspiratorial commiseration as they swept up the stairs. The house was unusually quiet but then, it was still early and the children still all abed. The door to Severus Snape's room was wide open and though Poppy's first inclination had been to register surprise, the unexpectedly calm expression on her companion's face stopped her from voicing this. 

"Remus is with him again this morning," the Weasley matriarch explained. "I expect they'll return momentarily. Did the Muggles find anything?" She asked gesturing to the folder Poppy had picked up and started to read. 

The nurse frowned deeply without looking up. "The trouble with Muggles is that they go off half cocked not having any idea what they are about--" 

"Poppy? I'm not sure I understand." 

"It appears not all of the..." she practically sneered the next word, "chemicals are known to the laboratory." She pressed her lips in a thin disdaining line. "They speak of formulations hitherto unknown." 

"Poor Severus," Molly breathed in characteristic empathy. "What shall we do then?" 

"He hasn't responded negatively to any of the standard remedies; I suppose we just keep using them. But I am too afraid of trying anything more potent." 

Molly nodded and a shuffling outside the room stopped her from saying anything else. Both women turned to watch Remus Lupin guide the ill man back into the room. The werewolf's frown of concern and gentle ministrations belied all of the turbulence of the long history the two wizards had shared since childhood. It struck both women, not for the first time, that perhaps Lupin had been, after all, the best of his year; and perhaps a good many others as well. 

"Good morning, Remus," Poppy greeted in her no-nonsense style while Molly merely nodded and moved to support Snape on the other side. 

"Good morning. Thanks Molly." As yesterday, they guided the unresponsive but unresisting Snape to sit on the edge of the bed. Poppy came to stand in front of the dark haired wizard and paused, seeming to be waiting. Remus and Molly exchanged curious looks but said nothing. Then twin onyx eyes lifted as if just noticing someone in front of them. But there was no recognition, nor even any sign that the young wizard indeed saw anything. 

Poppy tsked and frowned but still there was no reaction. "He seemed a bit less feverish this morning." Lupin reported helpfully. 

Poppy nodded but didn't look away. With agonizingly slow movement, she brought her wand up and pointed it at her patient's head. Still no reaction. With a small sigh she began the ritual of murmuring incantations that would help her ascertain his present condition. At last she put her wand away. "Do you know if he slept well?" 

"During my shift, he did have nightmares. He spoke, but nothing made any sense. I didn't wake him." 

"What did he say?" 

"He kept repeating a name, Brandon." 

"Oh! He mentioned that name before!" 

"N-not Brandon..." a hoarse voice rasped hesitantly yet somehow managing to be insistent at the same time. 

Everyone looked down at the speaker. But although the voice came from Severus Snape, there was nothing in his face that confirmed he had spoken at all. Molly sat down beside him. "Do you know your name dear?" She asked with great gentleness. 

"Not Brandon." 

"Quite right, my dear." She patted his hands folded on his lap, then sighed and shook her head at the other two. "Much the same as before, but perhaps a tad more... I don't know... emphatic?" 

"The wards are finished at Hogwarts, but I really don't think it would do to bring him there." Poppy said, changing the direction of the conversation. "Not with school resuming so soon." 

"He's fine here." Molly agreed. Remus frowned. 

"Moody." He made the single word a litany of arguments. 

"Alastor Moody will not do anything. He knows what will happen if he makes me angry." Molly averred, and righteous indignation seemed to swirl like a magic cloak around her. 

"Erm... Quite." The werewolf reminded himself that even the twins were wary of antagonizing their mother. 

"I've made a nice porridge for breakfast." Molly directed to an uncaring Snape. "I'll bring you some." 

Remus offered to stay and help Poppy with the rest of her examination, but the nurse declined. 

Molly was pouring boiling water into the kettle when Harry and Ron made their usually lively entrance. Ginny straggled in behind them, scowling as if she'd been rudely awakened in the middle of the night. "Good morning dears!" Molly greeted with effuse cheer. "There's porridge today; jam and honey and butter are on the table." 

"Can we fly today, mum?" 

"No! Absolutely not! We're in London!" 

"The chance of your being seen by either Muggles or other Wizards is too great," Remus added more reasonably. 

The boys groaned in dismay. Ginny wore the smug "I told you so" look sisters tormented brothers with worldwide. The adults shared fleeting knowing grins but neither said anything. Molly shook her head and guided a floating tray upstairs.   
  
--   
  
Margaret Sellinger came in to work as she always did, carrying a paper cup of steaming hot Earl Grey with a little milk and a lot of sugar in one hand, and her valise in the other. She scorned the bookbags most of her colleagues had taken to using, considering their use to give an unprofessional, student like, look that was ridiculous on anyone over twenty-five. 

As usual, she all but ignored the guard who checked her id but greeted the floor secretaries with slightly aloof, but not unfriendly, civility. Again, as usual she disappeared into her office intending to check the morning's post both physical and electronic. 

Not as usual, Preston was seated in a visitor's chair, scanning a newly arrived journal. Margaret stopped short and glared at the intruder. 

Preston grinned. "Good morning Margaret." 

"I said I'd call you when I heard from my friends. I haven't so why are you here?" 

The agent shrugged. It really didn't matter to him if the woman was going to be a humorless old bag. Not that the older woman wasn't handsome, but with that altitude, she was going to be alone for a long time. Perhaps that was exactly what she wanted. "Just playing courier, my dear." He tossed a sealed envelope onto her desk. 

The woman glared at the offending object. "Do you know what's in it?" 

Preston grinned. Baiting her was so easy. "As a matter of fact, I think I do. But not to worry. I'm staying around to see your reaction. I have other errands to run." He rose from the chair and was at the door in three long strides. He paused. "Don't forget to call." 

He didn't wait for an answer but exited, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

Margaret tore into the envelope and pulled out what was obviously a copy of some lab report on a blood workup. Curiosity piqued, she sat down behind her desk and read it through. Then she started swearing very quietly to herself. 


	14. A Step Forward, A Pause to Consider

Thank you for reading and even more, thanks to my reviewers!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

A Step Forward, A Pause to Consider 

* * *

That evening saw another meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Minerva McGonagall had arrived early partly to give Molly a hand with getting things organized. They knew she would insist on feeding everyone and at least Tonks felt a little bit guilty at all the extra preparation that would entail. The Transfiguration professor had no guilty feelings to bother with. She merely felt it was the right thing to do. Besides, she was set already with her class preparations, not having made any changes to her syllabus this year. 

Arthur Weasley returned from the Ministry looking even more weary than usual. He went straight to his and Molly's bedroom to change out of his work robes and into more comfortable attire. Purely out of curiosity, he peeked into Snape's room. As usual, the door was ajar. The recuperating Potions Master was, for the moment, on his own, propped against some pillows so that he was very nearly sitting up. His face was turned slightly away, toward the single window in the room. Molly had used a cleaning spell to get it mostly clear. 

Arthur slipped into the room and stood quietly, watching the other man who clearly had no idea that he was no longer alone. He edged further inside and then simply sat down on the plump wing back chair beside the bed. He cleared his throat but there was no response. "I say... Severus?" He reached out to gingerly lay a hand on the other's arm. More than likely it was this lingering but non-intrusive touch that finally reached through. 

The head turned and the dark eyes were brought to bear on the red headed man's visage. Snape's face slowly developed a frown. The longer he gazed at the other man's short red hair, the deeper the frown became. It was a frown not borne of anger or fear, but rather quite clearly of befuddlement. 

Arthur frowned back. "Have they left you alone long?" He asked. 

"A-alone..." The weak raspy voice repeated carefully. "Other... W-where?" 

"Dear me. I'm not quite sure I know what you are asking. Do you mean Molly? Are you wondering where Molly has got to? She's down in the kitchen." But that didn't seem to make any sense to Snape. Arthur sighed and patted his arm. "Sleep, Severus. That's what you need. It's only been four days, and I daresay you've got a bit of recovering to do yet." 

The dark eyed wizard balked all of a sudden. "No," he rasped. "No." 

"Are you thirsty then? Hungry?" 

"P-please, stop..." 

Arthur's frown deepened. "Stop what Severus? Tell me what you want stopped." He coaxed quietly. 

The dark eyes became haunted. "Other. She." 

Arthur's lips tightened against any expression at the futility of this lopsided conversation. "Severus, I--" Snape's expression was changing again! He was losing the haunted look, but not in favor of anything better. Rather, he was turning inward! Weasley yanked the covers away from the other man's left arm. As he expected and feared, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was summoning the Potions Master, and as before, the spy was removing himself from all awareness. "Snape!" He grabbed Snape's face, forcing him to meet his own lighter colored eyes. "Look at me! You do not want to do this! You are stronger than this! Severus Snape you are stronger than this!" 

Awareness returned. Or something akin to awareness, anyway. "I am not Brandon," Snape gasped forcefully. "I... am not..." A frown carved lines into the disturbed face. "...not..." A deep groan overwhelmed any more the wizard might have said and he tried to curl around his arm. 

Arthur released him then. It was awful to see another human being in such agony. But it was better than watching the man retreat into his own deeply troubled and unreachable mind. 

Snape forcibly pulled himself out of the instinctively protective pose. He brought his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself onto his feet, swaying dangerously. Arthur got to his feet in swift response. But held back from restraining the other wizard just yet. "Severus," he spoke softly, barely louder than a whisper, "Where are you going?" 

The answer took a long time in coming, during which the ill wizard barely maintained his stance. "I do not know." He said at last. 

"Who is calling you?" 

Another long wait before the second, equally befuddled, "I do not know." 

"Then perhaps you ought not go." 

"Yes. Is it the Other? Is it... She?" 

Arthur sighed morosely. "I'm afraid it is someone worse. Come now, sit down. Is your arm still hurting?" He could see the Dark Mark still black and inflamed all around and didn't really need the answering nod. A knock on the door startled him. 

"Arthur?" Molly's voice wavered at the odd scene of her husband gently coaxing the much more frightening (some would swear Dark) wizard like some pliant child or elderly relation into the plush chair. 

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is calling him again. One would think he'd get tired of receiving no response by now! D'you think he knows Snape's been recovered?" 

Molly shrugged expressively as she moved into the room. "Albus might know that. I'll stay with him while you join the others, Love. Everyone's here. Don't let that Fletcher light up his pipe in the house." She looked over at Snape who was now bent over his left arm which he had held protectively against his chest. 

"I've not put a binding spell on him but for the moment he seems willing to be convinced not to wander. Not that he's at all steady on his feet." 

We will be fine, Love." Molly reassured almost convincingly. Arthur leaned in to give Molly a kiss on the cheek then went down to join the meeting in the kitchen. 

He found the meeting in some slight disarray. Albus was speaking quietly with Ron and Harry and Ginny. The three children nodded and giving the merry-eyed old wizard a shared knowing look, left the kitchen without complaint. Arthur took a seat near his other sons, Bill and the Twins. Charlie, of course, was in Romania. 

Tonks smiled briefly. Mad-Eye was scowling. 

"We have several topics to cover, this evening." Dumbledore began in his usual calm smooth tones. 

"Albus, Severus is being summoned again." Arthur didn't quite interrupt. 

The Headmaster looked up thoughtfully at the head of the Weasley clan. "Now?" 

"At this very moment. At first he almost did what it was he did before, but I spoke to him and that seemed to hold him here. Then he got up as if to answer the summons--" 

"Ha!" Moody snorted knowingly. But Arthur spoke over him as if he'd not made any sound. 

"... But he really had no idea what he was doing and when I asked and he couldn't answer, I was able to keep him from trying to leave." 

"So he is aware of things?" Bill asked. 

"He is aware of a direct question, at least." 

"Exactly what did you ask him, Arthur?" came from Remus. 

"I asked him where he was going. He stopped and said that he did not know. Albus, Molly worries that You-Know-Who knows that he's not quite missing any more." 

The white bearded wizard shook his head. "I shouldn't think so. We haven't told anyone that he's been found and the only people who would have known that he'd been lost in the Muggle world in the first place would be Muggle-borns. I do not believe he would know any more than that Severus is in some Muggle establishment." 

"If he thinks that, wouldn't he think that we'd be trying to get him back?" Remus offered. 

"Indeed, I should think that quite likely." 

"Then we should expect what? That he'll try to watch us?" Moody snarled. "We already assume he tries to do that and we have security measures established against it. Of course we can always improve them!" 

"Constant Vigi-" Tonks whispered resisting the temptation to roll her eyes but broke off when Kingsley gave her a mostly gentle jab in the ribs. On her other side, and amused Mundungus Fletcher choked off a guffaw. 

"So far he has not acted except to make his summons. But so far as I can discern, the summons have been general, not for Severus in particular." 

"Which no doubt means that even as we sit here speaking ever so calmly, he's out there terrorizing someone." Bill huffed angrily. 

Albus pinned him with a stricken look. "I fear it does that, Bill." He understood the angry frustration that flashed in the young wizard's face. A young man whose future might have been bright if not for a war that would no doubt tear the wizarding world apart before it was over. 

"Without our spy, we've not had much in the way of warnings," Mundungus reminded everyone. "What did that Muggle blood business turn up?" 

McGonagall shook her head and spoke up in answer. "Apparently Severus has been given strange experimental draughts clearly meant to confuse him. There is no telling why, of course. Nor why he was left at that Muggle hospital nor, of course, who left him there. It does seem, however, that a significant number of these concoctions are nothing remotely standard." 

Mad-Eye made a harumphing sound. "Well, they either succeeding spectacularly or failed miserably. Can't tell the difference from here. We need inside information. Snape at least gave us some of that, even if I don't believe most of what he spouts. We can't afford to waste any more time on him." 

Albus shot a disappointed glare at the old ex-Auror. "I do not consider anything we can do to help Severus as a waste of time. But we must," he looked pointedly at the Transfigurations professor, "indeed, focus on our present circumstances." 

"The Dark Lord is making more and more ludicrous attacks, sir." Kingsley offered. "They don't seem well planned. They certainly aren't very effective--" 

"Except people are still dying!" Bill shouted angrily and George, sitting next to him, reached out as if to restrain him from jumping up. 

"We've managed to convince the Ministry to put Aurors on guard duty in areas where we think he might attack." Kingsley replied as if the outburst had been only the most mild of objections. "But we are stretched thin. Fudge wants most of us at the Ministry and at his home. Still, there's a decent sized contingent near and about Ottery St. Catchpole. Since there's still quite a number of his... detractors there." 

"I myself don't think he'd attack there so soon." Arthur mused. "I think he'd rather expect us to expect it. You see." 

"He's mad. There's no telling what a madman will do next." Mundungus offered simply. "I don't mind saying that I'm not comfortable with how things are going." 

"What does that mean?" Bill snarled. 

"It means nothing more nor less than what it is. Albus, have you heard anything from the giants?" 

"Some will support us. Most will remain neutral. They trust none of us all that well." 

"Well, given that You-Know-Who is undoubtedly up to something this evening, I think that unless there's anything productive to be said, we end this meeting and go out and see if we can't do someone some good somewhere." 

"Very well, Alastor." Dumbledore acquiesced. "I rather think we've gone over everything we could have this evening."   
  
--   
  
He knew he wasn't alone anymore. He wasn't quite sure when this condition of his universe had changed but he was certain it had not been a sudden change. No, this change had crept up upon him like a raising sun warming slowly warming a cool morning after a long night. Nor had it been constant. Sometimes he was alone and sometimes he was not. 

He had been alone and then he was not. He looked as hard at the Man as he could, taking in mainly the flame colored hair thinly distributed upon his scalp. Perhaps he wasn't real, though. If he disappeared he could not be real. Of course when he heard a Voice and saw that the man's lips moved, he was less convinced that all was imagination and more hopeful that he was not Alone. Especially because the Man said that word with him. He repeated it back just to make sure that it was not his own voice he was mistakenly hearing. "A-alone..." 

It was not his own voice. Did this Man know where She was? Could he warn him? "Other," he gasped unable to form the words in his throat, unable to get them from thought to voice. "W-where?" he insisted. 

But then came a sort of betrayal. Sleep, the Man ordered. But Sleep was Dreams and Death and he was afraid. "No." He said. And then because he felt he should insist, he said it again and firmly, "No." And then, because the Man's face did not frighten and he hoped for an ally, he asked him to stop the torture and the nightmares. But only two words did make it out. "Please, stop." 

And then a miracle. The Man asked him what he should stop instead of merely abandoning him. He wanted to tell him, he tried. But words deserted him, she took them! "Other," he croaked, despairing of ever making the Man understand. "She..." 

But then he did tempt her wrath for the Pain engulfed him. It began at his left in his arm and quickly, so quickly, tore all through him. He had to hide! He tried to hide! 

The Man trapped him, yelling from so far away, insisting with words and desperate sounds. He sang of strength. _I have no strength._ The man called him and called him and... 

He could not hide. "I am not Brandon," he ground out in defiance even as the agony wracked his entire soul with flame. "I am not... not..." 

The pain bid him to rise. And so he did because it was better to obey than to ignore. 

The pain told him to come. And so he... 

"Severus, where are you going?" the gentle interrogator asked. 

He felt the words flow now. He knew the answer to this question. "I do not know," he replied truthfully. 

"Who is calling you?" 

He thought about this. In truth he did not know. Was it not She? "I do not know," he said again. 

"Then perhaps you ought not go." 

"Yes," he agreed amicably. And then thought to ask, (for if the Man did not know, who did?) "Is it the Other? Is it... She?" 

The response that returned was troubling. "I'm afraid it is someone worse." The Man said more words and then kindly asked if his arm still hurt. It did so he nodded. He was sitting now, in a large, plush comfortable chair that felt like the embrace of a warmth he'd not so much experienced but dreamt of. Another Voice joined the Man's and then he thought he was Alone again. 

But then the Tea Lady moved into his vision and she smiled her warm comforting smile and he didn't mind that the Man had left. "I am not Brandon," he told her. 

"I know," she said and then she took his arm and as she did he looked down and saw the horrible dark brand slowly fading. "Does it still hurt?" 

It did so he nodded and tried to pull his arm away. She released him and he cradled it against his chest. "Who am I?" He finally thought to ask. 

"You are Severus Snape," she told him. 

It felt right so he nodded. 


	15. Conspiracies and Convolutions

Thank you all for suggestions and encouragement! Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Conspiracies and Convolutions Part I 

* * *

Margaret shrieked angrily at her morning copy of the _ Daily Prophet,_ or more precisely, at the dark photograph accompanying a report on last night's Death Eater attack on a group of Muggle archeology students and their teacher visiting Stonehenge. No survivors, of course. and as the remains were fairly gruesome, the photograph showed only the investigating Aurors, none of whom were recognizable. "Damn them!" she hissed growing angrier with every word she read. She threw the paper across the table and grabbed her other, non-wizard, paper. And yes, on the front page, a slightly different accounting of the horrible and inexplicable murders. Nonetheless, she read the article in its entirety and then gasped. And a chilling smile tugged her mouth in an ugly smile. _Now they'll work a little harder,_ she mused to herself. She'd recognized the name of the teacher and knew it to be Merritt's own Muggle sister.   
  
--   
  
Mundungus Fletcher wended his way along Knockturn Ally humming quietly to himself, pleased at outcome of his latest transaction. As both a thief and a member of the Order of the Phoenix, he had found himself in the most delicious position of being able to obtain interesting items of dubious legality which he was wont to dispose of to his own profit. As he had only just concluded such a transaction he was quite cheery despite the early hour and morning dankness. Indeed, he preferred early hours for these sorts of affairs as he generally found, to his great advantage, the denizens of Knockturn Ally to be less than sagacious much earlier than mid-morning. And never at all before dawn. 

Thus, he was quite unprepared for the sudden blow to his back and grabbing of his wand arm that finally culminated in his face pressed to mildewed bricks and said arm wrenched painfully back and up between his shoulderblades. 

"Well, well, well, the scum is out early today," a deep rich voice throbbed at his ear. 

"Who are you?! What do you want?!" 

"Been watching you toad," the husky baritone teased. "Got a file a yard thick. We're going to have a chat. Don't be stupid I'm an Auror and I do not work alone. Now, with you free hand slowly remove your wand and drop it to the ground. Ah! And use only your thumb and forefinger." 

Mundungus moved more than merely slowly; he moved carefully sensing that this man was not above painful retribution for any mistake or miscalculation. He plucked at the wand managing to prise is out after only two false tries. He was not a coward, but neither was he stupidly brave. Still, a momentary hesitation let his attacker wrench his arm as some kind of reminder and with a sharp gasp of pain he dropped the wand to the sidewalk. 

"Very wise, Dung. I like that in a criminal." With a small shove, the wand skittered away. "Now, I am going to let you go and you will behave, won't you." 

"I'm not a criminal! Are you arresting me for something? Can't a wizard take a stroll--" 

"Shut it. We're not arresting you. Yet. We just want to have a nice quiet chat." 

"Who's 'we?'" 

In answer, the self-proclaimed Auror spun him about and took a step back, pale blue eyes digging into Mundungus' shadow streaked face. 

"Oi, I know you. Traverse. Anthony Traverse." he was good at putting names to faces. It was usually a helpful ability. "You're usually a cold one." 

"I am that, Dung. Cold enough to turn you in to the Hit Wizards." 

"For what?" 

Not saying anything, reached into a pocket and brought out a small object. A wave of his wand and a whispered word brought the object back to full size. It was a folder, very thick. Labeled "Mundungus Fletcher" in a bold hand. The Auror held it out. "The first few pages are more than enough, old man." 

More curious than scared, the thief took the packet and opened it. He started with the first page, his expression changing from indignant to nervous to scared before he was two thirds the way down the page. He looked back up at the other man. "What is this?" a tense whisper was all he could manage. 

"An argument that I think will convince you to work with me." 

"What are you talking about?!" 

"Severus Snape. You know where he is I think." 

"Who?" 

"Don't be stupid. You're part of Dumbledore's Order." 

"I--" 

"You are holding merely a copy of the files we have on you." 

"Dumbledore trusts Snape." 

"Does Moody?" 

"No." 

"Does anyone besides old Dumbledore?" 

Mundungus shrugged. "I doubt it. But still, the git's in no shape to do anyone any harm." 

"Nonetheless, we have a use for him." 

"I can't tell you where he is." He held up a hand to forestall the other's sharp reply. "All right, I can tell you that he's at Headquarters but there's a Fidelius Charm and I can't tell you where it is!" 

"Somewhere near Grimmauld Place I should imagine." 

"What?" 

Traverse shrugged. If the thief couldn't figure it out, he wasn't going to tell him. "You need not reveal it. Just get Snape out and we will take him off your hands." 

"Dumbledore--" 

"Dung, we are not aiming to get you in trouble with your precious Order nor its esteemed leader. Snape is useless to you, but we, on the other hand, do have a use for him. A use against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters. Can you really say that Dumbledore has gotten anywhere against them?" He waited for Dung's answering gesture. "I am sure we can arrange something convincing." 

"What about these..." Mundungus shook the packet. "I want all the copies you have and anything original!" 

"As you wish, old man." 

Mundungus narrowed his eyes in suspicion. This was too easy. Or was the man so very desperate? "Why?" He asked. 

"I doubt you'd understand, Dung. But some of us feel we owe the Muggles some help and Snape is in a unique position of being able to provide it." 

"What? The man isn't even in his right mind--!" 

"All for the better, I think. Is he at least mobile?" 

"I've not seen 'im up and about. And he's not left alone. There's always someone at the place." 

"Yes... The Weasley family I would think. I'd like to get this done as quickly as possible... But a workday would be best and a time when Mrs Weasley is out shopping. Arrange to have yourself placed on watch when next she goes out." 

"The children--" 

"Encourage them to go out and play." 

"You have all the answers, do you?" 

"No, but so far all the answers to your questions. When there are no obstacles you will simply bring him outside. We shall take care of the rest." 

What could he do but nod in acceptance.   
  
--   
  
Mad-Eye Moody read the morning paper with little comment. He had to admit he was surprised. Muggles at Stonehenge. There were always Muggles at Stonehenge. Almost always. But at least they'd managed to manipulate the Muggle government so that destructive tourists were limited. Why attack them now? There was no doubt it was the work of Death Eaters, the Dark Mark hung like a plague in the air above the shrine. He sighed unhappily. It was so completely unexpected! He turned to the sports page and sipped his tea. Finally finishing his reading he climbed to his feet to dispose of the breakfast things and get on with the day. A small alarm went off warning him that someone had apparated just outside the barrier at the front of his property. He pulled out his wand and looked into one of the many Foe-Glass orbs that decorated his home. 

He almost relaxed. He knew this visitor. An Auror from the old days, a few years his junior and still on active duty. He watched the man stride up the stone walkway, noting the cold determined expression that accompanied his purposeful march. He opened the front door while the younger Auror was three feet away. 

"Merritt Morrisson. What brings you out here?" He still held his wand out of sight. 

"Talk, Moody. My sister was killed last night." 

"I'll assume you are not accusing me." 

"Death Eaters! She was at Stonehenge!" 

"I'm sorry for your loss, but I know nothing about it. You are the active Auror--" 

"Don't play ignorant, Moody!" The tall man took a step forward, "You are part of Dumbledore's little Order. You know something!" 

Moody said nothing. 

"Damn it!" 

"Come in but behave. I'm not unprotected here." He stepped back inside leaving the door open. 

"I'm not accusing you of anything, I just want help." Merritt entered, closing the door behind him. "Everyone knows about Dumbledore's Order even if we aren't all part of it. We respect him and you. But you missed this didn't you?" 

"Yes and so did the Ministry. Why Stonehenge? Why now?" 

"They're mad. They've got to be stopped." 

"Don't disagree with you there, Morrisson." 

"Sorry. Of course not..." He seemed suddenly deflated. "What about the Order?" 

Moody's lips pressed together in a thin line. "I expect there'll be an emergency meeting." 

"They were unarmed and unprotected and completely innocent! They could not have had any idea--! Damn Him! Damn all those that follow him!" 

"Can't say as I disagree with that sentiment either." 

"What about Dumbledore's vaunted spy?" 

"Snape? Useless as yesterday's trash. They brought back a shell. We're all better off for that, I say. But Dumbledore is wasting time and magic having him looked after at Headquarters." 

"I take it you wouldn't be much put out if he ended up in Azkaban." 

"I'd throw a bleedin' party." 


	16. Conspiracies and Convolutions Part II

Thank you for reading and thank you reviewers!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

  


Conspiracies and Convolutions II 

* * *

Mad-Eye respected Albus Dumbledore more than any other wizard alive. But he recognized that the old Headmaster had a blind spot when it came to a certain brooding Potions Master that was impossible to fix. It was, he decided finally, up to himself to remove the object that so blighted the Order and quite possibly endangered them all. Around mid-morning, daily chores finished and his mind quite worked up about the whole thing, he apparated to Grimmauld Place and clumped down the uneven sidewalk to Order Headquarters. 

The house was silent when he entered. Even the Objectionable Portrait was quiet behind her heavy veil. He knew Molly was about somewhere, possibly upstairs although he thought that she'd have finished with Snape by now. He heard nothing and thus emboldened made his way upstairs to find the door to Snape's room was wide open and the room itself empty. Before he could react he heard the washroom door open. 

Snape emerged slowly, leaning weakly against the wall for support as he moved into the hall. And stopped just as soon as he saw that he was not alone. He stared at the old grizzled man and its strange roving blue eye with frank curiosity written openly on his face. 

Despite the wooden appendage Moody could move faster than anyone would expect when he wanted. He was on top of the younger wizard, grabbing him by the collar of his nightshirt and throwing him backwards hard against the wall. The dark head smacked with a satisfying crack and Moody pinned him with an arm to his throat. Neither said a word. Snape's eyes focused and widened with fear and shocked incomprehension. 

Moody frowned at the uncharacteristic reaction and a low growl escaped him. "So. Perhaps you are not faking, Snape." 

The younger man only shuddered and choked until the elder propelled him into his room. As he fell, gasping, to the floor he heard the door click closed ominously behind him. Before he could even get to his knees, his attacker grabbed him again and bodily lifted and thrust him back into the plush wing chair. "Do you know what you are?" The grizzled attacker rasped fiercely. 

He shook his head, not daring to speak. 

"Eh, you don't? I'll tell you then. You are a spy. You are a dirty, filthy, murdering bastard--" 

"No," interrupted weakly, shocked and hurt. 

Moody backhanded him once hard enough to draw blood. "Don't speak! Listen! Look!" He grabbed Snape's left arm and shoved the sleeve up past the elbow. "Look!" he hissed again and clasping the back of Snape's head, locking his fingers in the black hair, forced him to look down at the branded Mark. "That is the Dark Mark. It announces to one and all that you belong to the Dark Lord! It announces to one and all that you have tortured, killed and maimed, men, women, and children!" Moody's voice had risen almost to a shrill yell. 

"No, no, I couldn't..." 

"Oh yes you could. You've always been a slimy one, boy, and even if I don't have proof, I know--" 

The door banged open, "Alastor Moody!" 

"--what you are!" 

"Alastor, stop this at once!" Molly Weasley was on him now, pulling at his wrist. 

"Molly--!" 

"Let him go! Alastor stop this! Please! The children..." 

Moody came to himself then and looked back to see Ginny, Ron and Harry all watching him wide-eyed and impressed with his anger. 

"They've seen worse. They know what he is and I'm just reminding him as he seems to have forgotten!" he spit the words with venomous force. 

"Get out Alastor," Molly ordered calmly, almost gently but there was frost in her voice. "Get out of this room. Now." 

Moody straightened up shooting one last hate filled glare at his target. But Snape was no longer looking out at anything. He was slumped in the chair motionless, eyes closed and face blank and pale. 

Molly watched the old man, suddenly deflated, limp out of the room pushing past the youngsters without meeting their shocked faces. "Am I... a murderer?" rasped a weak voice from the chair. She turned and went to kneel in front of the broken wizard. She took his hand, gently pulling the sleeve back down over the arm. 

"I don't know, Severus," she had to reply, for indeed she did not though of course she expected that he was. 

"I have killed children?" 

"No, I do not think you could ever do that." That, however, was the truth. For all his acidic ways she didn't believe him a killer of children. 

"I do not know." 

There was a rustle of sound and Molly looked back at the disgusted expressions on the faces of her children and Harry. She frowned at them and gestured for them to leave the room. True the man had been vindictive and verbally cruel as a teacher. But she truly did not believe he could kill or maim a child. "I know, Severus. Now let me look at that cut." 

"No. Let it be." 

Molly sighed and got to her feet. It wasn't a bad cut. She'd let him have his way for now. She patted his arm. "You and Alastor have never gotten on and he has become... angry in his frustration." 

There was no answer and she knew he wasn't going to say any more. But neither did she wish to leave him alone in his distress. She watched him retreat into himself and felt her ire at Alastor Moody grow in equal proportion. The Hogwarts professor had finally this morning acknowledged Molly and his surroundings. He'd spoken more than merely a word or two when she engaged him in conversation during his small breakfast. He'd made eye contact! But now, not a mere few hours later, he was retreating back into the internal cell the Muggles' poisons had originally imprisoned him. And he was going voluntarily. 

She stirred at last to clean the cut on his lip. He didn't flinch. He didn't notice.   
  
--   
  
_Alone, better Alone, there is no... murder no death no life. Alone Alone Alone Alone..._

"Please Severus." A distant crash of waves on a nonexistent shore. _Don't listen!_

_Alone! Alone! No Tea Lady, No Children, No Death, No Life, No Other!_ But I hear... 

"I do not remember." 

"Severus?" An old man's voice. A face, old. White hair, white beard so long it settled against the old man's stomach. 

"Headmaster," he whispered. 

"Yes child. You remember who I am then?" 

A single anaemic nod responded. Dark eyes fluttered and focused on the face hovering above him. "Headmaster. Dumbledore." The old man's warm hand encircled his own cold one. "He said... He said..." 

"It matters not, child." 

"It does, it does matter. I do not want... to be a murderer, a torturer of children." the hoarse whisper shook. 

"And so you are not." 

"I do not remember." 

A percussive tap on the door interrupted. "Albus, we're ready to start," called a voice from the other side. 

"Yes, thank you Remus. I shall be there in a moment." The old wizard had not taken but a moment to glance away and when he looked back, the younger had withdrawn into himself. Except he held tightly to the older weathered hand clasping his trembling one. "I will have you back safe and sound..." there was a hesitation here, "if I can." Albus Dumbledore sighed and pulled his hand out of the other's weakening clasp and slowly, his century and a half showing in his defeated posture, made his way down to the kitchen where Order members waited for him. 

Moody of course, the Weasleys except the children (and Harry), and Charlie who was still in Romania and Percy who was not a member, Tonks, Shaklebolt, Mundungus Fletcher, Diggle, Vance, several others... Of course not everyone was here. That was impossible. But enough worried faces crammed themselves around the kitchen table and about the room. Arms were crossed over chests, faces exuded anger and worry and yes, fear. Fingers tapped, bodies shifted. There was no calm here. He couldn't blame them. Stonehenge. Totally unexpected. Totally without discernable reason. And they all looked tired on top of everything else. 

"Kingsley, my boy, what of the Aurors?" 

"We got there too late even to apprehend stragglers. The Muggle police got there before any of our people. We had to obliviate quite a few. There were no survivors of the attack to question." 

Moody growled. "What about evidence? Beyond the blasted Dark Mark in the sky." 

"Nothing but the dead and the Muggle officials were taking care of them." 

"Were they killed by Unforgivables?" Emmeline Vance asked. 

"There was some torture both magical and physical. There were several unmarked bodies. The Killing Curse, we suspect." He took a breath. "No messages, no traps. Nothing." 

"Not quite nothing." Arthur Weasley corrected. "We did find all of the Muggles' equipment piled at the base of the Heel Stone." He paused and cast a woebegone look at Dumbledore, "With a copy of the Hogwarts Slytherin banner draped over them." 

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" Moody growled. Shaklebolt meanwhile was shooting the red headed wizard and angry glare. 

Arthur shook his head, "I don't know. Albus?" 

The elder wizard's lips compressed into a thin line, revealing his frustration and distress. "I don't know either. perhaps some cryptic message concerning Severus. Perhaps he's found out that he was in their care and this is his way of repaying them." 

"Then he'll have guessed we have him?" Arthur was the first to ask. 

"I suspect he would. Surely he would know that Severus is no longer with the Muggles." 

"I hate it when he tries to be subtle." Shacklebolt grumbled. "So what do we do? We can't watch every henge, nor every cairn nor village." 

Dumbledore sighed wearily and squeezed the bridge of his nose as if trying to dislodge a headache. "Would that we could, but you are correct, we cannot. Instead we must try to find insight on Voldemort's thoughts. We must try to anticipate. Without Severus' information I fear we are at a great disadvantage that gets worse with time." 

"Well, we haven't gone over all of the Muggle artifacts yet. perhaps we will find something helpful." Arthur Weasley was not one to give up readily. "I shall certainly keep on it."   
  
--   
  
Traverse and Merritt exchanged looks. Grimmauld Place was hopping with witches and wizards this afternoon. They'd followed Mundungus and after losing him, remained hidden and observed at least four others including Mr Arthur Weasley of the Ministry of Magic wander up the street and disappear from their senses. Something was going on. And if they couldn't count on Moody to aid them they at least had Dung and a good idea of the general area Snape might be hiding. They went back to their office feeling quite satisfied with their progress.   
  
--   
  
With the emergency meeting over, Dumbledore had remained to visit Severus once more, only to be disappointed when the younger wizard refused to emerge from the safety of his internal exile. He came downstairs to find the Weasley children and Harry having tea in the kitchen. He took a seat and Molly served him a cup of tea as well. With a start, he suddenly perked up and rummaged in his pockets before bringing out three sealed envelopes. to hand out to the youngsters. 

"I know you have received your grades. Now here are the letters that list your classes for the upcoming term and the required supplies for them." he told them as the three tore into their letters. 

Molly leaned over Ginny's letter, announcing to the youngsters, "We can go to Diagon Ally for your supplies on Monday, perhaps." Ginny looked excited. Harry and Ron looked dismayed as they compared classes. Molly merely looked proud. "Well, another year and another set of books and supplies." She patted Ginny's shoulder. 

Albus smiled and gestured for Molly to walk with him upstairs to the front door. "Remus will be spending the Full Moon at Hogwarts again. It does seem that the Wolfsbane Potion St Mungos is sending us is not quite as robust as that which Severus prepares. But once the term starts he will be staying here. I've discussed precautions with him and Arthur." 

Molly nodded, "Yes, I've spoken with them both about it." 

"Thank you Molly, for taking care of everyone--" 

"Oh none of that, Albus! Harry is like another son and the Order needs what I can provide." She couldn't help but blush at the complement, though. She was still feeling slightly flush with pride even after the Headmaster had disapperated from Grimmauld Place. 


	17. Matters of Conscience Part I

Thank you for reading and thanks to my reviewers for their suggestions and insights!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Matters of Conscience Part I 

* * *

"Come along, Severus, stand up now." Remus patiently coaxed as he tugged the Potions Master's arms forward. "Look here. Hiding isn't the answer, you know that. It's high time you came down to breakfast." He wasn't actually sure the other wizard heard him for all the lack of response he was getting. Snape didn't bother to look at him much less pull away from the manhandling. "Severus--" 

"No." The low baritone rasped faintly. 

"Severus? So you are in there," the werewolf replied with false cheer. 

"No. Go away." 

"I think not, old boy. Come along, stand up now, I'll steady you." 

"No." 

"You need to regain your strength; you need some breakfast." 

"No." 

Remus sighed loudly with frustration. "This is getting quite old, Severus. Now, you've really no choice in the matter. You will come down or you shan't eat." 

That resulted in no response whatsoever and Remus sighed again adding a short growl for emphasis. 

"Listen Severus, Moody had no right to say what he did and the rest of us don't believe you are a killer of children." 

"I do not remember." 

"You don't need to." 

The dark eyes looked up then, their fathomless depths full of disagreeing despair. "I do." 

"Well you won't if you starve yourself, will you!" 

"I do not want to know." 

"You just said--" 

"Need to know, do not want to," came a retort that was only a faint shadow of the spy's former acerbity. "Go away," was pleaded with a quiet and desperately sincere moan. 

"Damn it Snape, stop being such a git and cooperate for a change!" Remus decided a little rough irritation might do what gentle entreaties wouldn't. 

For a moment it appeared this tactic was not going to prove any more successful than the other. But at last Snape's low sigh of exhausted surrender let him know he'd won. Oddly, the achievement didn't make him feel any more at ease with his harshness. At least this time when he tugged at Snape's arms, the other wizard responded with some effort, albeit unsteady, to rise up with the pull. "Well done, Severus," he praised the other wizard encouragingly. 

"Go away," came the half-hearted plea one last time. 

"No. We're going down to the kitchen." Remus grabbed the dark dressing gown draped over the back of the chair and, one handed, pulled it around the other wizard's shoulders. "One step at a time. No hurry now." He wheedled. 

The journey downstairs was fraught with adventure as the pair traversed the stairs with the same difficulty mountain climbers generally have with the escarpments they scale. By the time they reached the front hall Snape was breathing erratically and weaving dangerously and it was only by Lupin's efforts that he did not simply fall over. 

Three teens ran down the stairs, laughing and yelling only to pause hesitantly behind them in sudden silence. Ginny reacted first. "Good-" 

The Portrait was a close second. _Traitors! Blood traitors! Get out! Filthy rotten murdering traitors!_

Snape collapsed against Lupin with a groan, his face screwed in agony. 

"Shut it, you old dead hag!" Ginny pushed past them, running up to the painting and smacking its frame hard. "You are a mean, nasty painting and if you don't shut it I shall rip your canvas out of your frame and burn you!" 

"You can't, you little traitor! Just go ahead and try!" 

At this all the other paintings starting yelling as well. Ron and Harry exchanged matching grimaces and clapped their hands over their ears. Remus could only wince at the shouting, he had his hands full trying to keep Snape from sinking to the floor, and Snape himself was muttering 'child killer' over and over. 

Molly Weasley stomped into this cacophony and right up to the portrait of Mrs Black. "Madame, the only despicable one here is you and I am telling you now that your days are numbered! My boys, Fred and George Weasley, are right now finishing up something that will have you off this wall and in the dustbin where you belong." 

The painting went silent and closely after the others followed suit. 

"Your time here is limited. If you do not behave, out you go. This applies to all of you paintings." She spun about and looked at Ginny and the boys, all staring at her open-mouthed. "Children, there's a nice breakfast waiting downstairs." She smiled as the three scrambled for the kitchen. 

There was, after that, a loud silence broken only by Severus' whispery mutterings. Molly turned to the pair of adult wizards. Snape's head lolled against Remus' shoulder. "Molly, I don't think we are going to be able to make it. He's all done in." 

The matronly witch came up and peered into the two distraught faces, her hands on her hips. She pressed her mouth into a thin lipped glare of determination and pulled out her wand, pointing it at the dark haired potions expert intoning a soft, _"Mobilicorpus."_

Remus felt the weight lift away from him as the witch guided the now almost incognizant wizard toward the basement stairs. "You don't give up easily, do you?" he mused with a small smile. 

"Remus Lupin, are you joking? I don't give up at all. I've raised seven sons and a daughter." She continued directing her charge down the stairs and over to an empty seat at the table. "And then there is Arthur," she murmured to herself with a faint, fond smile. 

Remus hurried after and took over settling the other wizard into the chair while she went see to dishing out some breakfast. "Perhaps it is too soon." He said, holding the again unresponsive Snape in place. 

"He can't afford to wait." Molly responded at once without turning away from the stove. "We would lose him if we waited." 

"He has no strength. The blasted painting set him off!" 

"I was not joking when I threatened that miserable creation with Fred and George. If we let him sink back, he is lost." 

Ron almost giggled but he sputtered instead. "Oi, he's staring at Harry." 

Lupin looked down. Indeed, the Potions Master's dark eyes, half hidden behind the ever present veil of black hair, were homed in on the bespectacled youth across the table from him. "Severus?" 

"James Potter." One could hear the loathing even as flat as the voice was. 

"Erm, no. That's Harry, Severus. Harry not James." 

The answer was a frown of uncertainty behind the curtain of black, slowly replaced by a blossoming expression of vague comprehension. And then a sigh and the last expression dissolved into something forlorn and resigned. 

For his own part, Harry was obviously first confused then angry. But a look from Mrs Weasley kept him from shouting out anything (whether or not he'd regret it later). 

"Now, Severus," that good woman deftly moved the conversation along another path, "What would you like to have for breakfast?" 

"Tea." 

"To eat, dear." 

There was a long silence. 

"Severus?" Remus prodded. 

"Would you like some eggs?" Molly made a specific offer. 

"I do not remember." The answer finally came. 

"How can you not remember what you want for breakfast?" Ron blurted out unthinkingly. 

Snape cringed. Mad-Eye Moody chose that moment to make an entrance. "Now that's how I like to see Death Eaters behave," he leered. "Mornin' Molly, Remus. Kids." 

"Leave off, Moody," Remus ordered quietly. But the older wizard was being egged on by Ron's and Harry's sniggering and he grinned back at them. 

"Tea," Snape whispered again being careful not to lift his gaze from the tabletop. 

"That's fine, then. Tea. And toast, I think you will like toast. Will you try some for me?" Molly was determined to keep her voice bright but her children knew her well enough to hear the note of ire just below the surface. 

"Yes." 

"Good. Alastor, will you have tea?" 

"I'm fine," the ex-Auror declined. "Came by to see how things are here. Where's Arthur?" 

Molly finished dispensing the tea before she answered and when she did, her voice was tense with worry. "He is at the Ministry. He returned late last night and left early this morning." 

"I suspect, then, that they've still not come up with anything useful." He started to swear but changed his mind just in time to avoid another Mother Weasley glare and the sounds out of his mouth were meaningless. 

"Were you expecting something to be wrong here?" Molly asked in an accusing tone while she set a plate of toast in front of Snape's place. she noted he had not touched his tea and she slid the mug closer to him. Unfortunately, it seemed he was not going to move at all with Moody nearby. 

"I always expect trouble everywhere, Molly Weasley, you should know that by now. So, it's just the two of you and the kids here." 

"And Severus," Remus reminded him pointedly. 

Moody snorted in derision. "He hardly counts now." 

"Alastor," Molly's voice held a quality best described as a warning one had better heed. 

"Well then, I'm off. I have errands of my own to attend to. Molly, you'd do well to keep the kids inside today." He started for the stairs, stopping just beside Snape's chair. "Azkaban is where you belong, don't forget that. I'm watching you. One wrong step and I'll deliver you there myself." He smirked with delighted satisfaction when the sound of his rough purr caused the spy to cringe even more. 

Remus grabbed Moody's shoulder and jerked him away. "You're not helping anything," he hissed, his normally placid face beginning to reveal anger. 

Moody only grunted and, pulling away, clumped his way upstairs and outside. He paused just beyond the threshold, casting his so called "mad" eye in all directions as he sought to uncover anyone that might be lurking about. Plenty of small animals none of which seemed to be anything suspicious. Insects a plenty. (And recalling the annoying Rita Skeeter, growled a low epithet.) A man and a woman strolling along the road, dressed in Muggle clothing, neither had a gait he knew. Still, it bothered him that he couldn't see their faces. He found small comfort in the certainty that they would not be able to tell from where he had emerged even if they bothered to look back at him. With another discontented grunt he moved to the street and crossed it. He didn't plan on disaparating until he'd followed the couple several turns and blocks and satisfied himself that they were, after all, harmless. 

He didn't get that far into his plan when he did notice something jarringly out of place: a pair of Aurors in Muggle clothing standing by a Muggle newspaper kiosk. He knew these two. Old timers, a few years senior to Kingsley Shacklebolt (though several years junior to himself) but not part of the Order. He hobbled over to them and they showed a proper respect for his intelligence by not pretending surprise. 

"Traverse and Nyssa Mantell," he greeted sketching a mock bow to the witch. "In costume, I see." 

"Covert operation, Moody," Traverse replied curtly. "Observing." 

"Anyone I know?" 

"Probably," the witch mumbled. 

"Mundungus Fletcher. Ministry is tired of that petty thief taking on airs. Thinking is that he's about to move up to DE activity." 

Moody snorted in disbelief, "That old thief? I doubt it. He's not that much a fool. Dung looks after Dung. He's a thief not a murderer." 

Traverse only shrugged. "Orders." 

"They're angry because he swindled them out of a few galleons. But he did help our side." 

"Yeah. Well, there you are. Politics." 

"What brings you out this way?" The witch asked. 

"Not much. Any word on Severus Snape?" 

"The Order has him Moody, we know that. So unless you hand him over to working Aurors we can't touch him." Traverse's voice wasn't entirely free of the disgust he felt. 

"Catch him out of bounds and he's yours," Moody affected a nonchalant air. 

"You could cooperate." 

"I won't betray Albus Dumbledore." 

"Give us a hand, old man. Where is he?" 

"Can't say. But you're good and Merritt is a determined bloodhound. I don't doubt you'll have him. When you do, give him a few kicks for me if I'm not around to have the pleasure myself." 


	18. Muddled

Thank you for reading and even more, thanks to my reviewers!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Muddled 

* * *

Only when the rhythmic thumping of Alastor Moody's departure ceased to echo did Severus Snape show any semblance of life. His head lifted slowly so that his eyes seemed directed to the cup of tea in front of him though he made no move to reach for it nor gave any indication he actually saw it there. 

Molly pursed her lips, a peculiar indicator of decisiveness with which her children were all intimately familiar. 

"That's trouble," murmured a worried sounding Ron to his sister and Harry as all three teens stared at Mrs Weasley's expression. 

Ginny nodded in knowing agreement, "I wouldn't want to be Mr Moody just now." Harry wisely kept his questions to himself. 

"Ron, Harry, Ginny, if you are finished with breakfast you may see to cleaning your rooms," the mother's tone would clearly brook no discussion, but Ginny pouted anyway. 

"Yes ma'am," three voices announced with identical (not to mention prudent) civility. 

Remus had pulled over a chair and sat down beside his old schoolmate. "Severus," he whispered sotto voce as he watched the teens take their leave without making any sounds of dismay at their newly assigned chore. "I really think you ought to have some tea now." He dragged the cup closer. He watched Snape struggle with some internal difficulty before the dark eyes managed to alight and focus upon the still warm cup of tea. 

Snape reached for the object with both hands, his face a study of concentration as if the motion was unnatural and had to be carefully forced. He brought the cup to his lips and drank without any apparent enjoyment. When the cup was empty he carefully set it down again and folded his hands in his lap and bowed his head again. 

Remus sighed but Molly showed greater patience when she said with a gently coaxing tone, "You must eat as well, Severus," and pushed closer to him the plate of toast she'd earlier set out for him. 

With uncharacteristic docility, the wizard obediently ate two pieces of toast before returning to the frighteningly morbid state of silent torpor. 

Remus frowned. "We aren't making any progress here. We'll be all day at just getting breakfast into him." 

"This is progress, dear. He'll eat more for lunch." 

"We got him all the way down here for a cup of tea and two slices of toast? When you said he had to come down for breakfast I assumed you meant a real breakfast." 

"Remus dear, don't pout. It doesn't suit you." 

"Ever so sorry..." Remus shook his head and fought off the snide words he was about to spit out. He knew he had a tendency towards irritability when the full moon was close. "I really am sorry, Molly. I'm short-tempered today I fear." 

"It's all right, Remus. Though speaking of breakfast, I haven't noticed you having any yet." 

"Nor you." 

A second serving of breakfast cluttered the table and the relaxed ambience of the other two adults at their meal was sufficient to entice the Potions Master to accept another cup of tea and a few spoonfuls of warm scrambled eggs when they were placed before him. Molly beamed with satisfaction at her success which brought about an answering smile from Remus.   
  
---   
  
Margaret Sellinger never referred to herself as 'Maggie' and people who did took their lives in their hands. With one exception. The division chief who even now, on a Saturday no less, was giving her a wide and very fake smile. She had long ago decided that the man would not have known how to deliver a real one if his life depended on it. She supposed that was one of the reasons he was chief of R&D instead of the field agents divisions; they all knew a phony and scientists didn't seem to care. She deliberately insinuated herself into one of the more comfortable looking chairs in his very posh office. She gave him an insipid smile that was no more genuine than his own. And wondered if he could tell the difference. 

"Maggie my dear, you must know that we are not in the slightest upset with you although we would have preferred it if your experimental subject had been properly disposed of--" 

"I wasn't finished with him." 

"Indeed. And I'm told that you will shortly have him back. Well, I must tell you that the Powers-That-Be are extremely interested in your research, my dear. A whole new facility is being readied for your work. This one will be located in the north; somewhere not so readily accessible to anyone who might wander by. All of your notes and equipment are of course being transferred." 

"Wonderful, but I can't leave until after I have my subject back. The... people who are obtaining him know only me and will cooperate with no one else." 

"I am aware of that, my dear. The agents you have been working with will continue to work with you for now. I just wanted to let you know how highly thought of this project has become. You will not fail this time, will you." 

"I didn't intend to fail before. If we'd had the safeguards I asked for--" 

"They and others will be in place. You need only make the request and anything you want will be delivered." 

Margaret's smile became genuine.   
  
--   
  
Madame Pomfrey showed up an hour or so after noon, hesitantly (because of the Damnable Portrait) announcing herself via the heavy door knocker. She was taken aback somewhat when the opening door was accompanied not by the expected screeching and howling, but by young men's voices and a faint sobbing. She stepped inside. Not just any young men, but the ever inventive Weasley twins. The pair had clambered up two ladders that had been placed to either side of the Abominable Painting and it was this very painting from which the most heart wrenching moans now did emanate. "About bloody time some one took care of this _annoyance,"_ the otherwise kindly mediwitch announced in her most disdainful tones. Of course this only made the sobbing worse. Molly Weasley, who had been the one to actually come to the door, was wearing the most woebegone expression. "Oh come, Molly! It's a painting girl, not an actual human being! Besides, I wouldn't put it past her to have treated people worse than what her painting's about to receive." 

"Right, mum, you know how she treated her house-elves, after all," George had to add, glancing down at the witches. He grinned at his brother and together they set about sticking little pieces of paper around the edges of the painting. Madame Black moaned and began making offers of conciliation, in the most abject tones possible. 

Poppy humphed and turned her full attention on Molly, dismissing the melodrama going on at the wall. "Well, I'm here to see Severus. Has he shown any improvement?" 

Molly's shift of attention was less complete as her compassionate nature did not allow her to dismiss the piteous cries so completely. "Oh... Yes, some. But I'm afraid not very stable improvement." She started leading the way to the stairs up to the first floor. 

"Appetite?" 

"None really. He did have toast and a bit of egg this morning. In the kitchen. It would have gone much better if Alastor hadn't shown up." She grimaced at the memory of the very one-sided confrontation. She stopped outside the bedroom's closed door. She had wanted to muffle the ousting of the painting as much as possible. "Severus, Poppy has come to see you." She opened the door slowly not at all surprised to find that the younger wizard had not moved from the plush wing chair Remus had left him sitting. In fact she wasn't even sure he had heard her warning for he was staring at the window. Following his gaze she saw only the grey sky and a few birds in flight and the roofs of nearby buildings. 

Poppy moved to stand in front of Severus, cutting off his view. She was pleased when his eyes focused and his face turned up to look at her. she was, however, not very encouraged by his befuddled expression. So unlike himself. "Severus, I am here to see how you are faring. I am going to examine you. Do you understand?" 

He stared at her unblinkingly for a moment and then answered, "No," in a rather flat and unemotional tone. 

The nurse's lips compressed into a line of annoyance. "Is that, 'no' you don't understand or 'no' you don't wish me to examine you?" 

He seemed to need to consider this. His response, short as it was however, made perfectly clear his intended meaning. "Go away." 

The witch snorted. "Certainly not! I came all this way from Hogwarts to London. Do you think I have nothing better to do than apparate all over Great Britain for nothing?" 

The wizard appeared to give this serious thought. "I do not know," he replied honestly. Molly almost giggled. 

"Well, I have no time for such nonsense. Now sit still, I am not going to hurt you." 

Molly came over to his side. "Severus, do you remember Hogwarts?" Perhaps she could redirect his attention away from Poppy and her diagnostic ministrations. 

As she anticipated, the dark head turned to look at her and after a moment the depleted voice returned, "No." 

"It's a school, Severus." That didn't seem to clarify anything. But at that moment, Poppy moved away and his view of the window was once more unobstructed. 

"Will he return?" The question was unexpected. 

"Who dear?" 

"Man. Angry man." 

"I expect so. But he won't be allowed to hurt you." 

"The other? Remus?" 

"Ah, so you remember his name then? Yes. He'll be back but after tomorrow he will be away for a bit." 

Severus nodded and turned his eyes to the window again. The two witches left him to whatever thoughts and diversions he was capable of, gently closing the door behind them. 

They headed to the kitchen, noting, as they passed through the entrance hall, the empty wall space where The Portrait had been and now wasn't. Molly smiled as relief from some heretofore unrecognized stress flooded through her. "I'll make some tea. What did you find?" 

Poppy waited til tea and biscuits were spread out before addressing the subject of the Potions Master's health. "He needs to eat more and drink more. I am glad to see that he is responding to outside stimulus." 

"But there is no memory of anything or anyone and you can see how so ... unlike himself he is." 

"As much as I'd like to call that last bit an improvement of his disposition, it is worrying. But he did remember who Remus is." 

Molly shook her head. "Not from before Poppy. He only remembers Remus and me because we are constantly with him." 

"Even that is a good sign. It means that he isn't retreating any more; he is interacting and can be drawn out." 

"Alastor insists that we are wasting our time." 

"Severus might be better off at St. Mungos." 

"But he wouldn't really, would he? He wasn't hexed or cursed. His debilitations are not magically induced. It was all Muggle machinations and their healing methods would only make things worse again." 


	19. Questions Without Answers

Thank you for reading! I am amazed at the wonderful reviews I am receiving and I hope not to disappoint. Some of them will no doubt influence the re-write (which happens after the thing is finished, of course).

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Questions Without Answers 

* * *

Coppers prowled every inch of the Stonehenge archeological monument. Most of them not the uniform types. Many of them not even regular police. Preston was one of them. But his reasons for being here were much different than anyone else's. Sellinger had tipped him off. A wizard attack she'd said. And she'd told him about the so called "Dark Mark" which hung sickly green over the field until Aurors (wizard coppers she explained tersely) dissipated it. There were no wizards here now, of course. Or if there were they blended in amazingly well. There were only police, military, and the ubiquitous newspaper and television reporters. 

He hadn't expected to find much of anything this late in the day. But curiosity won out and he joined the prowling detectives, flashing his credentials when asked and ignoring everyone else otherwise. It proved to be a waste of time and effort and an afternoon he could have spent more productively engaged. If there were any clues to be found they'd been found before he'd got there. If there were any wizards they'd come and gone. He left without having gained anything but more curiosity.   
  
--   
  
The rain kept falling, falling. The day remained grey and forbidding. So housekeeping, it seemed, was the perfect solution to the dreariness that tried to settle in the Order's headquarters. Mrs Weasley had set the teens to cleaning their rooms in the morning and they had not whined even once. Later, after Fred and George had removed the portrait of Mrs Black from the entrance hall (no mean feat as the sooty burn marks and gouges around the general area had to indicate) and banished it (almost anticlimactic really) to the attic, the matron of the Weasley family began to notice a change in the attitudes of her youngest son and only daughter and in Harry Potter as well. It wasn't hard to pin down. They didn't cringe when passing anywhere near the foyer. their voices quickly adapted more relaxed and playful tones as they occasionally yelled -- and didn't have to worry about the painting starting up its awful caterwaul. They'd been boisterously exuberant when she told them they could owl Hermoine to see if she'd like to join them on Monday's outing to Diagon Ally for school supplies. 

So while the day might have been dank and gloomy outside, a kind of sunlight finally rose inside the old Black family residence. And it lasted well into the evening. At least until the Order meeting commenced. 

Ron, Harry, and Ginny were again excluded form the meeting. But ever resourceful (not to mention curious) they'd gathered in the first floor hall, just outside Snape's room, with three sets of Extendable Ears courtesy of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. 

The first clear sound they had was Arthur's, "... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named apparently has no idea that we've rescued Professor Snape. I believe his attack on Stonehenge was meant to be a message to the Muggles." 

Moody huffed and growled out his rejection of the idea, "You give him too little credit, Arthur." 

"I hardly think so, Alastor. If he knew where Snape was he'd send Death Eaters after him. They have no fear of Muggles after all, do they. If he thought the Order had the man, he'd be torturing sympathizers--" 

"Which he'd do for sport anyway--" 

"But he doesn't know who has him, except someone has told him that the Muggles at least _did._" 

Kingsley Shacklebolt interrupted, "Arthur, Moody, there have been Death Eater sightings all over England since the attack. But almost all have been attributable to nothing more than frightened old witches with more imagination than sense." 

That comment elicited a giggle from Ginny, which sound her brother stifled by clapping his hand over her mouth. 

"Severus has been twice summoned and not answered. What do you think this tells him?" Arthur countered. 

"I don't know," Moody admitted testily. 

"Unless Severus' role has been discovered, Voldemort should take his lack of response to mean that he can't respond." Albus Dumbledore's calm voice spoke up. "Despite the fact that most Purebloods do not have any contact with Muggle news services, I cannot imagine that the Dark Lord has not heard of Severus' incarceration at a Muggle hospital." 

"Then he should guess we've got him since clearly the Ministry does not." Moody countered. 

"That means the message is for us, for the Order." Arthur reasoned, his voice soft and dismayed. "He is telling us to return Snape to him or he will continue to attack Muggles." 

"I'm afraid I have to agree with that assessment." Dumbledore's voice was firm but lacked encouragement. "The question is, then, what should we do?" 

"Much as I don't like Snape, I like his lord and master even less. I'm not for giving that dark wizard anything but a Dementor's Kiss." Moody was fervent in his assertion. 

"Well of course not," a stately witch of indeterminate age remarked with a slight sting in her tone. "But a more useful suggestion would be appreciated Moody." 

"Azkaban." The Mad-Eye rolled around in its socket as if drunk with joy. 

"Alastor--" 

"Where else? St Mungos? Hogwarts? All those innocents, Dumbledore, are you prepared to use them to shield a turncoat?" 

"Not Azkaban." Dumbledore replied almost too quietly to be heard. 

"Why not? It's better warded than ever. They can try all they want to get him back and all they'll get is dead." 

"He doesn't deserve that," Tonks grumbled in an unusually subdued voice. 

"No? He is a Death Eater! Nothing he could do for us would balance the evil he did to us!" 

"Not Azkaban, Alastor." 

"Why not, Albus?" The ex-Auror was practically shouting. "Why won't you tell us why he is so precious to you." 

Dumbledore's voice was arctic. "I cannot." 

A shuffling sounded behind the three teens almost causing Ron to yelp loudly. All three turned to find a singularly confused looking Severus Snape staggering slowly from his room. His face was contorted in pain and he was holding his arm against his chest. He was barefoot and dressed only in a long nightshirt, disheveled and open at the throat. He didn't seem aware of the three young people arrayed in front of him until Ron and Harry had grabbed hold of his arms and forced him to halt. 

"Mum! Mum!" Ron yelled, his eyes wide. "Ginny go down there and get some--" 

She hadn't needed to. Everyone in the kitchen had heard his call. Kingsley Shacklebolt, closest to the door, was the first to reach them. He edged Ron away taking his place at the dazed wizard's side. "Professor Snape, can you hear me?" He asked calmly. 

"Oh he only knows that he is Severus," Molly gasped breathless from having run up two flights of stairs. 

"Severus?" 

"Hurts." 

"Where are you going?" the Auror asked loudly now. 

"I do not know." He was shaking now and couldn't stay upright without the larger man holding him up. 

Albus came to his other side, displacing a more than willing Harry. "Come child, let us take you back to your room." 

"Yes. Headmaster. Will it stop?" 

"Yes child." Albus promised somberly. He gestured to Shacklebolt who grimaced but easily lifted the diminished wizard and carried him back to the rumpled bed. He was none too gentle at dropping him back down but Dumbledore didn't seem to notice as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "This will help, Severus," he murmured as he drew out his wand. But Snape's eyes were squeezed closed and he didn't see the Headmaster point his wand as his head and he didn't hear the spell that stole away his consciousness. But at least he no longer felt pain. 

Most of the Order members looked troubled. Moody looked furious. No one noticed, though, that Mundungus Fletcher looked thoughtful. Likewise no one had noticed the Extendable Ears Ginny had shoved into her pockets and when the adults resumed their meeting the teens resumed their surveillance. 

"There. An example of security." Moody grumbled. 

"The man couldn't stand up by himself. He wasn't going to get anywhere. Those kids could have stopped him!" Shacklebolt was almost at wits end with this discussion. "What are we going to do about You-Know-Who? Do you think the Muggles are going to be easy to Obliviate forever?" 

"If only the Ministry would see that," Dumbledore mused thoughtfully. 

"Well they don't, so we have to take care of it." 

"What can we do but try to weaken the Death Eaters. Himself as well if we can." Arthur spoke plainly. "We need to be more" he winced as he said the next word and the three youngsters could hear it in his voice, "...vigilant." 

The meeting broke up shortly thereafter with only a few boring reports that Harry, Ron, and Ginny lost interest in. Arthur returned to the ministry with Tonks and Shacklebolt. Dumbledore stayed but went to sit with Snape. Molly let the teens have a snack but then sent them directly to bed. 


	20. Matters of Conscience Part II

Thank you readers and reviewers! I am getting some wonderful compliments especially about Molly. But really, she seems to write herself. :)

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Matters of Conscience Part II 

* * *

Sunday came bright as its namesake but Margaret Sellinger was feeling anything but bright. She scrubbed a hand thorough her short blond hair brushing up messy spikes by the action. She'd finally gone to bed around 2:00 AM but sleep had been elusive and full of dark warnings and evil premonitions. In other words, bad dreams. Absently she reached out for her cup of coffee, startling herself when its lack of weight informed her of its emptiness. She grimaced and refocused her gaze from the scattered papers to the empty cup. With a long suffering sigh she forced herself to her feet and padded over to refill her cup from the nearly empty coffee maker. Filthy habit, she heard her mother muttering. But she liked coffee more than tea for the sheer jolt it could give. Which was why she didn't drink it regularly. One could quickly build up a tolerance for the caffeine and there went the buzz. 

She carried the once more filled cup back to the table and set it down without tasting it, her thoughts going back to the reports she was studying. 

Apparently there was a difference between pureblood wizards and regular (her mother would have said 'real') people. It had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with inbreeding. There had been mutations which, at least in Severus Snape, indicated deviations from accepted norms. Severus Snape, (at least) could no more receive blood from any Muggle than could a dog. Ostensibly type AB Rh negative, but apparently not. Well... Type ABII she'd designate it. But there were other differences. Whoever had done the analysis had found chemical signatures from various drugs that did not make sense unless they could be assumed to have occurred because of a difference in his chemistry. 

Now she leaned back in the chair and allowed herself a long drag from her mug. Spinal fluid, she'd test that as soon as she had him. She'd been too quick to simply inject chemicals into him. This time she would make a full analysis before she did too much else. This time she would succeed. She replaced the cup and started writing notes to herself on her laptop. 

This was going to be a profitable weekend after all.   
  
--   
  
Merritt's deep somber voice struck Mundungus as forcibly as any blunt instrument. "Fletcher, I've been waiting over an hour," the voice caressed ungently. 

"Had to be careful, I thought I saw Tonks." Mundungus noisily slid a chair over to the table Merritt had procured in the dark Knockturn Ally pub and promptly filled it with his own bulk. 

"And you didn't want to lead her here. How thoughtful of you." 

"She'd go straight to Dumbledore. I like the girl and won't see her hurt for this." 

"All right. I'll let this go. The fewer involved the better." 

Mundungus' eyes narrowed as he fiddled with his tobacco pouch. Was the man trying to make him think this was an action sanctioned by the Ministry? He didn't believe it, but then he also didn't ask. He filled his pipe and tamped it down. "Buy me a firewhiskey mate. I've good news." 

Merritt gestured and the barkeep sidled over just long enough to take the order. They waited silently, Dung, caught up in the act of igniting his pipe just so, until the drink was served. Merritt's own drink was hardly touched. "Well?" 

"Tomorrow. I can get him out tomorrow." He downed the drink in one smooth gulp. "There's an old lot at 34 Grimmauld Place. I'll have him there." 

"What time?" 

"That I'm not sure of. Not before brekkers anyway. Got to make sure his keepers are away. There'll be no one hurt. You folks want Snape, fine, but everyone else is off limits." 

"Strong words, thief." 

"That's right. Thief, not traitor." Dung puffed angrily on his pipe. 

Merritt only nodded. "No, you are not a traitor, Fletcher, I will say that for you. Very well. Tomorrow then." 

The thief slid quickly out of his seat and hurried away (partly he was afraid the Auror meant to stick him with the bill, partly he was feeling less than comfortable with this skullduggery). But the Auror did not move. Rather he was joined by three others. "Tomorrow morning, 34 Grimmauld Place."   
  
--   
  
Two more days before full moon. Remus couldn't help but feel the weight of depression descend. He didn't want to leave Molly shorthanded, but the Wolfsbane Potion was at Hogwarts. Or it would be come the time to take it, and so would he be! He had helped Snape negotiate the obstacle course to the kitchen at Molly's behest as she had hopes that seeing everyone else packing away a meal might get the message across that he should eat more himself. Remus personally doubted it but was not of a mind to argue. As for himself, although he was no more hungry than usual, the fact that he'd need all his strength had him devouring platefuls of carbohydrates. He always thought it odd that he could eat so much and feel neither hunger beforehand nor overfed afterwards. Indeed, once the whole ordeal ran its course, he would be worn out and desperately in need of sustenance. 

He finally realized that there was nothing left to eat. Arthur was looking at him as if he couldn't figure out where it all went. Severus was staring at his still nearly full plate. "Delicious Molly! Just what I needed!" He forced more cheer into his voice than he actually felt. 

"You had nearly as much as Ron," Harry sounded impressed. 

Remus almost blushed. "Yes well... That time of month..." 

"You will go soon?" Snape's slow speech startled them all. He hadn't moved to look up. 

"Yes, but I'll be back on Thursday." 

"I ... did not make it." There was confusion in the voice. 

"Make what Severus?" Arthur asked without thinking. 

"Potion. Wolfsbane Potion. I am supposed to... But I do not remember..." Now he did look up, long black hair parting to reveal his expression of complete befuddlement. 

"You will, Severus. Not to worry. You will remember and I'll have a better potion for it, I'm sure." 

A simple nod answered him but the expression did not change. 

"Right then. I think it's about time I left. I'll see you folks in a few days." He took his plates to the sink and headed upstairs, all three teens at his heels for individual goodbyes. Harry was most obviously distressed and concerned. But they exchanged a hug and neither said anything more about the monthly transformation. "Have fun with Hermoine, tomorrow." 

"We'll tell you said 'hello' and not to study too hard." Ron replied. They all laughed at that and Remus felt much better all the rest of the evening.   
  



	21. Matters of Conscience Part III

Thank you for reading and even again, thanks to my reviewers!

BTW, found an awesome web page that reveal all the glorious buttons used in Alan Rickman's costumes. HOT!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Matters of Conscience Part III 

* * *

Number twelve Grimmauld Place was noisy with the bustle of Weasleys and Harry getting ready for work (in Mr Weasley's case) or the outing to Diagon Ally for school supplies. 

As everyone was finally gathering at the table for breakfast, Mundungus Fletcher made an impromptu appearance, letting himself in with a friendly yell downstairs to announce himself. With his pipe tucked safely away, he invited himself to breakfast. "My own cooking is never this good." He explained as he joined them in piling a plate with the many victuals being offered. "I remembered that you folks were going to Diagon Ally today for supplies and I thought you might want to do a bit of shopping yourself Molly. I can keep watch here while you are out enjoying yourself for a change." He grinned. "Plenty of food here to keep me happy." 

"Oh if you're sure..." She started feeling a bit guilty because she really was not very fond of the man. Maybe she was too harsh. But no. He was a thief and he did smoke that horrible pipe. But... He wasn't exactly evil incarnate. He was just a human being who made choices she found distasteful. "That is very nice of you, Mundungus..." 

He laughed at her reticence. "I promise not to smoke my pipe in the kitchen." 

She blushed harder. Even more so because the children laughed at his comment and her reaction. 

"Molly, Love, you have been cooped up in here. It's past time you got out," Arthur encouraged. He felt guilty himself for having not given her the attention he knew she needed and deserved. 

The witch finally acquiesced with a smile. "Oh very well. Just let me get changed." 

"Hurry mum, remember we are meeting Hermoine at the Leaky Cauldron." Ron prodded unnecessarily, and not noticing the significant look of amused understanding that passed between Harry and Ginny. 

Only fifteen short minutes later Mundungus Fletcher found himself in a surprisingly gloomy cocoon of silence. He'd promised to take up some tea and toast to Snape as he managed to shoo Molly out without giving any clue to his rising apprehension. He leaned on the shut door and glanced at the empty place where a portrait was missing. "Thank the gods," he mumbled. "Nice folk, but hard on the nerves." He straightened up. "Well, Snape, time to leave." 

He went upstairs making no effort to be quiet and burst into the room without even a knock. Snape was asleep, body twisted, arms and legs flung outward beneath tangled covers. Bad dreams. Well, he deserved them. Fletcher reached down to shake the man but pulled back without touching him. Oh no. That was inviting trouble. A man who slept like this was bound to attack whoever woke him up. "Snape!" he practically yelled. "Get up!" 

He was rewarded by the look of sheer terror on Snape's face as his eyes shot open and he gasped sharply. A moment later confusion and then calm followed as the awakening man took in and recognized his surroundings. 

"Up man. I haven't all day." Mundungus snapped. He was satisfyingly rewarded when the dark eyes shifted to him revealing no small amount of confusion and fear. Now, that felt fine, indeed. The once sarcastic, sneering, tower of forbidding doom was reduced to a pathetic spectre afraid of anything loud or sharp or new. "Get up, get dressed." He yanked open the wardrobe and pulled out the only two pieces of clothing in it, a pair of black trousers and a white shirt, both linen and both of a style not much seen since, he wasn't sure when, but it was clearly a time when buttons were all the rage. He threw them to the man now sitting on the edge of the bed. "Hurry up." He stormed out of the room not waiting to see that his orders were obeyed. It would have ruined the effect. 

The thief slammed the door shut behind himself and then broke into a grin. That felt good! "Hurry up!" He yelled through the closed door again. Moments later, the door opened and a barefoot, untidily clothed wizard shuffled out. Apparently Snape couldn't manage all those ridiculous buttons and had simply given up. "Good enough, I should think." Mundungus grumbled. He certainly wasn't going to fuss over the man. "Follow," he ordered tersely and turned to head downstairs. 

"No." Flat, emotionless, a simple assertion. 

Fletcher turned back. What he saw stopped him from yelling. He didn't see a resistance that anger would manipulate. "Why not?" 

"Tea." 

That was all right, then. "I thought we'd have tea out. Different surroundings." 

"Yes." 

Fletcher all but collapsed with relief. Minor problem subverted, before it could become a major obstacle. "Well, then come along." He was acutely aware of the other wizard following him until he'd opened the door and stepped out. Then Snape balked again. "What is it now?" 

"Hurts." He was squinting. 

"It will stop soon." This was worse than herding kneazles! But he could be a patient man. He supposed the Auror could be as well. They surely had to spend a great deal of their time waiting. He watched Snape become accustomed to the brightness of unfiltered daylight. He watched the squint relax and the tension in the other man dissipate. "Well? Better, just as I said." 

"Yes. Tea?" 

"Right. Come on, then." He made sure the door was warded before they continued on. Their way was slow. Snape had to stop and stare at every little brightly colored weed or insect. He occasionally blurted out a word, probably some arcane potions ingredient. Mundungus had never been much good at potions or herbology. His wit had always been better used for tactic and strategy, he liked to think. Finally they came to the lot and Mundungus grumbled. "Hang on. I've a stone in my shoe and you look a bit done in." In fact the Potions Master looked all but dead on his feet. "There's a nice shady tree, let's have a sit down for a bit, all right?" 

Snape's eyes found an interesting clump of weeds and he agreed with a simple nod, not hesitating to change his destination.   
  
--   
  
Mad-Eye Moody was no fool. He'd been suspicious since... Well, since the day he'd been born, he liked to say. Nonetheless, he'd been thinking about things of late and he was pretty certain something was up. He had spent the last few days keeping watch on Order Headquarters. It kind of surprised him when Dung had come early for breakfast this morning. But when the Weasley family had all departed leaving no one but the thief himself all his warning signals were dancing like demons in sunlight. It absolutely did surprise him (for about 3 seconds) when Dung emerged followed by a disturbingly docile Severus Snape. Moody grinned mirthlessly to himself. Now it begins, he thought. 

Dung was not always as careful as he should be, but even so, Alastor reckoned the fellow would not have noticed he was being shadowed anyway. Alastor was alive because he was good. (Not to mention careful.) He trailed the pair all the way to where they moved off the sidewalk and into an overgrown lot. Snape trudged determinedly toward a clump of tall weeds where he dropped weakly to the ground, his interest solely on the stand of plant life. Mundungus, however, simply wandered to some stone debris and sat down. His eyes flitted from place to place. Looking for someone. Moody stayed where he was. 

The reward came quickly in the form of three wizards and a witch, all dressed in unremarkable grey robes. Aurors. He recognized each one of them. Almost as one they raised their wands. One pointed toward a completely unaware Snape, the others toward a now horrified Mundungus Fletcher. Moody pulled out his own wand but still did not reveal himself. 

_"Stupefy!"_ Two voices rang out. There were no answering cries. Both spells hit their targets. It was very neat. Except for two youthful Muggles riding past on two wheeled contrivances who probably hadn't noticed a thing. 

The four split up now. Two of the wizards to lift Snape by his arms and drag him off toward a copse of wizened trees, while their comrades closed in on the thief, wands still out. Now Moody stepped forward and revealed himself. "Leave him." He barked, surprising them all. The two encumbered with an unconscious Snape could only turn their heads. But the others raised their wands to meet his. "Don't. go ahead and take Snape. But leave Dung." 

"He'll talk." 

"Snape deserves whatever you have in mind for him. But Dung does not. I know you Merritt. You're not above using Unforgivables. I don't abide by it myself, but I know you're allowed. I'm just not going to let you use them on someone who doesn't deserve them. Dung is loyal. Take Snape and get out of here." 

Merritt and his associate, Nyssa, shared a quick glance. They nodded in acquiescence and immediately disapparated. Moody watched the others use a portkey, still with Snape slung between them. Then he knelt down beside the not so petty thief and growled out, "Idiot," at the unconscious man before mumbling the counter-curse.   
  



	22. Covering Up

Thank you for reading and even more, thanks to my reviewers! Sorry about the USA to British vocabulary faux pas. I've tried to reseach the proper Britishisms but I fear I've missed them.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Covering Up 

* * *

The very first thing Mundungus saw when consciousness struck was the scowling ravaged face of one Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. He groaned. 

"Nearly got yourself killed there, Dung," that gentleman informed him with altogether too much cheer. "Merritt is not one to leave loose ends." 

"Bloody hell! I didn't have a choice, Mad-Eye." The thief quickly regained his composure and scrambled to his feet. "How much..." 

"Enough. _Constant Vigilance, man!_ What am I always telling you?" He snorted. "Not that you would have seen me anyway. So what's the story going to be?" 

"Ah. Well... Well, Snape took it into his head to erm... go walkies..." 

"And?" 

"Ah yes! Of course. Well, you know how much I like a good smoke," he ignored Mad-Eye's second derisive snort, "--and so I went out back to enjoy one not realizing the bastard was mobile and when I went back in... erm... The front door was open. I went outside to investigate. Didn't see anything so came back in." 

"Never noticing that Snape went missing." 

"Quite." 

"Didn't bother to go upstairs and see that everything was still in order." 

"Well... Fine, yes I did and seeing him missing went out to search for him. Haven't found the blighter yet!" He looked pleased with himself. 

Moody was still grim. It was simple. It was not even halfway believable even given that this was Dung and not Moody himself that had been left to keep an eye on things. Maybe halfway believable. But just barely. 

"Then you showed up." 

"So I did and immediately advised you to contact Dumbledore. I suppose when Snape shows up in custody Merritt can just say they found him wandering. I'll have a talk with him." 

"He seems to have it in for Snape even more than you, old man." 

"He does." 

"Well?" 

"None of your business. Besides you have no idea what happened to Snape. Now let's get back and inform Dumbledore that you've lost his precious Slytherin."   
  
--   
  
Raoul and Traverse apparated into the musty darkness of a disused and well dilapidated Muggle warehouse, immediately letting go of the still stupefied wizard. Both men smirked at the satisfyingly painful sounding thud, each sharing the thought that it was too bad their captive was unconscious. Moments later their missing colleagues joined them, a double 'pop' announcing the apparating pair. 

"Moody showed up," Merritt announced without preamble. "I think he'll keep Fletcher in line for us and if he doesn't," The Auror shrugged with studied nonchalance, "...thievery is a dangerous occupation." 

"I get the feeling he thinks we're taking Snape into custody. He'd not mind at all seeing this dark wizard in Azkaban." Nyssa remarked with wry humor and the others nodded in agreement. 

"Let's get this done." Merritt growled, clearly in no mood for insipid conversation. The four Aurors trained their wands on the supine form before them. _"Enervate,"_ Merritt ordered in a terse whisper. And a moment later the confused prisoner gaped up at his captors. 

_"Crucio!"_ the four called out as one. 

The effect was exponential rather than linear. Snape's scream reverberated from wall to wall and spread throughout the half demolished building fading only when the four voiced curse was ended. The man himself continued to twitch and shudder and as soon as he could manage it, he twisted into a foetal position, instinctively presenting as little a target for attack as possible. It made no difference as heavy booted feet began repeatedly and slamming into his body with not a single word from his torturers to tell him why. Again and again until welcome darkness settled and shrouded him from feeling any more of the abuse. 

Traverse was the first to notice their victim had lost consciousness. He held up his hand announcing with a gesture the change in their prisoner's condition. He and Raoul nearly had to restrain Merritt, though. "Hold up, man," he hissed urgently "We promised Margaret a living Snake, not a corpse." 

Merritt grunted and with effort pulled himself away from the others. "Bind him then. I'll send the owl." With that he left the room, summoning the waiting owl he'd ensconced there earlier. Shortly he had written a terse note and sent the silent raptor on its way. 

This owl was small and swift and it flew out of the ancient edifice and over the rooftops of the old city stopping not even a single time to hunt or rest. It soon reached its destination, the half opened window of a modern Muggle apartment building. It squeezed itself inside and gave a short hoot to announce itself. 

Margaret Sellinger looked up at the foreign sound. One didn't commonly hear an owl's cry in one's apartment. She let the grin break out on her face, knowing well that this was the news she'd been waiting for. She found the owl in her kitchen, perched on the back of a chair. Upon seeing her, the creature flew up and dropped the parchment onto her table before squeezing back out the same way it had entered. Margaret shrugged. She'd fully intended to reward the bird with a small treat. But it was a ministry owl and they were trained not to take any such things. 

She spread open the parchment and read its terse note. An address, penned in a neat and precise hand. The pleasant warmth of triumph surged through her every fiber and she awarded herself a moment to revel in its thrill before schooling her reserve to somberly call the number Preston had given her. In a voice she thought merely businesslike she recited the address. As soon as she closed the connection she gave up all pretense at quelling her merry anticipation and threw herself into packing up her notes, laptop and a few articles of clothing that she planned would see her through several days of intense work.   
  
--   
  
Preston closed the tiny palm sized mobile phone and returned it to his pocket. Despite the woman's assumption to the contrary the agent was very aware of the researcher's jubilance. though it didn't matter to him until and unless he got orders otherwise. He summoned the team he'd already organized for this mission and within a few short minutes he and Lou and two others (chosen for brawn and agility, ruthlessness being a given) were ensconced in a dark unmarked and unremarkable paneled lorry moving slowly through midday traffic. 

The warehouse was not that easy to find, tucked as it was among similarly decaying edifices. But find it they did and their quarry within. The man was unconscious but securely bound both at ankles, and with arms pulled stiffly behind him, at elbows and wrists. Not stopping to check on him at all, the four agents spread out to ascertain the security of the building. 

They found, not surprisingly to the senior agent, all was in order. The place was deserted. 

Preston gave a nod and one of the musclemen stooped and easily hefted the prize over his shoulder like nothing more unwieldy than a duffel of untidy laundry. Preston and Lou went immediately to the front of the lorry and got in. At a solid thud on the wall-like structure between cab and body, Lou started the engine and they took off to retrieve the overeager Dr M. Sellinger. 


	23. Missing

Thank you for reading and as always, thanks to my reviewers!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Missing 

* * *

"Albus, Snape is missing." Moody did not try to sound like he cared. For one thing he didn't. For another it would have been uncharacteristic. On the other hand, he knew the Headmaster was going to take it hard and for him he did feel compassion. Indeed, the man looked shocked, standing motionless before the fireplace from which Moody's grizzled head was speaking, and the ex-Auror felt a flash of sympathy. But only a flash as he automatically reminded himself that Snape was an untrustworthy turncoat. 

"Alastor," Albus spoke slowly, with forced calm. "Explain this to me please." 

"I can't. Not much anyway. Apparently Dung was keeping an eye on him while the Weasley family went to Diagon Ally for school supplies. He wasn't paying enough attention and missed Snape walking out. At least that's what I figure from what he's told me." Keep it simple, keep it imprecise. Let Mundungus flesh it out if he feels he must. 

Albus briefly pressed the tips of his fingers hand over momentarily closed eyes. "When did this happen?" 

"Not sure, Albus. I only just got here and found Dung in a right state of panic." 

A long sigh wafted from the old wizard. "I see. Very well then, I shall be there shortly and talk to Mundungus myself." 

"He could be anywhere. You want to alert the Ministry to put out an alert?" 

"I shall consider it, Alastor." He turned away, signaling to his floo caller that the impromptu meeting was over. That was fine with Moody who felt the less said the safer he was. He went to find Dung slumped dejectedly in a chair in the kitchen, a mug of tea at hand but undrunk. "Good," the ex-Auror praised, "You seem convincingly remorseful." 

"I should bloody well hope so, Alastor. I am remorseful. If they hadn't forced me--" 

"Forced you? I thought you were alone here and the bastard just disappeared." 

"Maybe I should just tell Dumbledore the truth. They are Aurors! They did force me! I had no choice, I'm tellin' ya!" 

"Listen to me, Fletcher. I don't care what you tell him as long as you leave me out of it. I got here, found you all concerned and panicked and that's that." 

"What do think he'll do?" 

"Who? Albus? Well he won't be happy. You know how he feels about his pet Slytherin. He trusts the git, doesn't he. Won't tell us why. But then, he also trusted Quirrel, right?" Moody shook his head. "No one's perfect. Sometimes you have to do the right thing even when someone you respect thinks you're wrong." 

"I don't know if I've done the right thing or not. I don't care a whit for Snape. But Albus... I hate the thought of hurting him." 

"Bit late for that now, mate." 

"Bloody hell, you think I don't know that?!" Fletcher pounded the table once. The action left him obviously subdued. "I'll use the story we came up with." He shrugged. "It's not as if Snape doesn't deserve whatever those blokes come up with."   
  
--   
  
It had been a long drive no doubt made longer by a torturous and totally contrived route to the hidden and highly secret, and certainly well guarded, research and development facility. Few knew its location though many might know of its existence. Margaret's anticipation had been severely tested by the infernal (and to her mind unnecessarily drawn out) drive. Her bum was numb and she was becoming quite aggravated with this cloak and dagger nonsense. 

The agony was relieved when the truck came to a stop, shivering so very slightly as the engine idled and then taking off again along a paved (which after the deteriorating roads just before was a bit of a blessing, really) drive. Then they came to a real stop and the engine was cut off. Before she could move, there was a jolt and they were dropping smoothly downward. The scientist waited til the back doors were flung open and a hand offered to help her down. White coated technicians silently gathered up the unconscious wizard, securing him to a gurney, and trundled off with Margaret on their heels. She was more than ready to get to work and all her thoughts were on nothing but her planned procedures. 

While the captive was settled into his prison, Margaret was shown to her new office. It was, of course, well lit and well appointed with a divan along one wall, shelves, a cabinet, desk, workstation, chairs. No window but they were below ground. She left her papers and laptop on the pristine wood desk and let her guide escort her to Snape's location. 

The captive wizard was unconscious still and Margaret took this as a convenient time to do the CSF collection. She watched with dispassionate interest as the insensate wizard was turned on his side and manipulated into a sort of curled position to allow the technician to properly and safely insert the thin needle between the 3rd and 4th lumbar vertebrae. The scientist moved aside to let the staff do their jobs. Pleased with their restrained efficiency she felt no need to observe. Snape was unconscious and therefore of no interest. There would follow approximately eight hours of enforced recovery during which no further work, other than the withdrawal of various other sorts of samples, could be done. Moreover, she'd decided to wait for the lab results before doing anything more with him. Now was the perfect time for a bite to eat. She headed for the commissary and lunch stopping in her new large office to gather some folders and journals and a palm-pad for recording her thoughts. 

An hour and a half later, she was similarly and more comfortably ensconced in her office transcribing and editing the pad notes to her workstation. She was interrupted only once by the senior technician to tell her that they had finished collecting samples for now and the subject was still unconscious but adequately secured in case that condition changed. The results would be in her hands as quickly as possible.   
  
--   
  
Dumbledore strode into the still somewhat dilapidated house hardly seeing anything but Moody's usual scowl greeting him. "He's in the kitchen, Albus. Don't be too hard on him. He wasn't expecting Snape to be able to get about own his own." 

"Is that his excuse, Alastor?" the blue gaze was clearly disappointed even more than angry. 

Moody shrugged noncommittally and walked down to the kitchen with the aged wizard. "I think he knows you aren't going to take this well," he offered warily. 

"And I suppose you believe the same?" Dumbledore halted while they were only a few steps from the bottom. "If so, you'd be correct, Alastor. I have no intention of taking this well." He resumed his trek without another word. He glided into the kitchen, moving to stand across the table from the now despondent thief. "Mundungus, what have you done?" He asked when that wizard found awareness and finally looked up at him. 

"Done? I looked all over the house when I didn't seem him on the street," he purposely misconstrued the question. 

"I see." Dumbledore rewarded him with a sad look. "Tell me what happened." He sat down and the change of position immediately made the thief more comfortable and the suspicious ex-Auror more nervous. 

"I wanted a smoke. I thought I'd do Molly a bit of a good turn by smoking my pipe out of doors. I came back in and found the front door open. I didn't hear anyone and I didn't think anyone would just leave the door open like that. I went outside but didn't see anyone. I walked about a bit to make sure it was no Fred and George prank being pulled. Then I came in and went upstairs and Snape was gone. I ran back outside and looked everywhere! I could not find him!" 

"I do not understand why he would leave." 

"The other night Albus, remember? He tried then. When You-Know-Who summoned him." 

"No. I don't think he was trying to leave so much as trying to find help. He was in pain and he did not understand it." 

"That's it then. He was looking for help and he walked out." 

"Mundungus, how was he dressed?" 

"What? I don't know." 

"I should not think it very difficult to spot a man in a nightshirt wandering the streets of either Muggle or wizarding London." 

"I didn't see him, Albus." 

"Perhaps not, but someone--" 

Young, excited voices coming from the front hall upstairs interrupted the interview. The Diagon Ally excursion had returned. From the noise, it seemed they were all going upstairs rather than down. Most likely to put away their purchases. Molly's sharp cry from the first floor when she discovered Snape's room empty made all three men wince. Fletcher for one looked surprised. He hadn't thought even the soft-hearted Molly Weasley would care that much for the greasy git. 

Concerned youthful voices quickly responded and Albus gestured a wordless request for Moody to go and explain the situation while he remained with Dung in the kitchen. 

"Mundungus, is there anything else you wish to tell me?" he asked with hope. 

"I don't know anything more." 

He was saved from further interrogation by the arrival of Molly and the teens. Molly's expression was expectedly concerned while the teens emotions seemed mainly uncertain. 

"Molly," Albus greeted with his signature calm humor and warmth before the mother spoke a word. 

"Albus, it was a bad decision on my part." 

"Now, Molly, it was reasonable to expect Severus would be fine." 

"What if the Death Eaters get him?" Ron asked. "Won't he tell them everything? He won't remember not to." 

"Unless he was faking, like I always said." Moody livened up the discussion with his trademark paranoia. 

"He was not faking, Alastor!" Molly insisted irritably. "I would have known by now! No, he is truly confused and vulnerable." 

Harry and Ron exchanged doubtful looks, Ginny, standing between them, jabbed them both in the ribs with her elbows. 

"Perhaps we should check the hospitals," Hermoine offered with her typical wisdom. "You did say he was wearing a nightshirt. That would attract attention." 

"Good thinkin'" Moody said approvingly. "How?" 

Belatedly Hermoine remembered that wizarding folk did not have telephones. But her folks did of course. "From my house. But, erm... Please Mr Moody, try not to frighten my parents." 

Dumbledore smiled warmly. "It's a fine idea but we don't all need to go. Perhaps the children and... myself." His eyes were twinkling again. 

"No offense Headmaster, but I think someone with a little more experience with Muggles should--" 

"No, no, Alastor. The Grangers have helped before. We'll be fine, won't we children?" 

Said children as one were thinking that it was a shame Remus was at Hogwarts preparing for the evening's full moon because Remus would be awfully good to have here now. 

"Albus, how about Tonks, at least. And shouldn't you be at the school?" Moody did not want to think about all the furor that the robed headmaster would initiate if he suddenly appeared on the Muggles' doorstep in the middle of the afternoon. Or even evening. 

"I suppose you do have a point." 

"Should we alert the Ministry?" Molly asked in a small voice. 

"I'd rather not. If they've found him before the Muggles, we'll know soon enough." He looked at Mad-Eye for confirmation. The retired Auror shrugged.   
  



	24. Don't Cry Out

Thank you for reading and even more, thanks to all who review for encouraging comments!

It's late and maybe I should wait, but I'm apparently not going to. 

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Don't Cry Out 

* * *

Margaret had slept well and she looked it. There was no concern, no worry, no anxiety in her at all. What she did feel was triumph, but this she was careful to hide behind a layer of aloof professionalism. She ate a good but not mind numbing breakfast then headed to her office where the results from the overnight chemistry workups should be waiting for her. She sat down with a second cup of tea and perused them carefully finding that there were indeed, some very unusual deviations. She might dare argue that he wasn't really human, but she knew few would agree with that assessment and that her assessment was no doubt predicated on the fact that he was a bloody murderer! 

Not that it was relevant to anyone else here. She finished off the cooling tea and shoved the papers into a tan colored hard folder that fastened with a snap closure and swept off to the small lab where her subject awaited her pleasure. 

Severus Snape was supine on a hard flat surface, shackled at wrists and ankles by thick straps tightly cinched. His shirt had been ripped open, and the sleeves torn from cuff to shoulder. Cold air blew constantly across exposed flesh; he shivered involuntarily. He had no idea where he was or how he'd got there. He missed Molly and her always warm tea. He remembered a man telling him they were going away for Tea. He remembered a stand of pale green plants. He didn't remember what they were although he felt he should have. He remembered nothing else except opening his eyes to find himself tethered and hurting. Why were they hurting him? Molly and Remus never hurt him. He was not afraid, but he was curious. 

A flash of white caught at the corner of his eye and then a white coated woman moved into view. She was neither young nor old, her short blond hair untouched with grey but her hard expression accentuated the few lines at her mouth and eyes. She held a strange wand made of metal. But he sensed no magic in her and so knew the stick was not what it seemed. She pointed it at the side of his face between eye and temple and a man's hand pressed something sticky against his flash. Two other overlarge hands held him immobile or he would have tried to dodge. She nodded and another sticky thing was pressed to the other side of his face. 

"Carry on," the woman said to her assistant. The man continued to ply circular pads at the ends of thick cables to various places of his anatomy. He squirmed and was punished with a solid punch to his stomach. Before he could recover from that a series of blows slammed into him until he was limp and gasping, eyes barely able to stay open. The strange things were pressed to him but he couldn't have cared less at this point. The woman grabbed his jaw and forced his face to hers. "Can you hear me, Snape?" She growled. 

He couldn't nod and didn't trust his voice. He blinked and she took it for the assurance she expected. 

"You've no idea what these are, so I will tell you. They are called electrodes," speaking slowly as if to a despised and especially dim child. A tone much like the one he favored for ... Longbottom. (The name and a child's fear filled face rose sharply in his mind.) But hers was even more filled with vile loathing than he had ever managed. "Some tell me when your heart beats fast or slow or weakly. Or not at all," she purred leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "Others reveal other secrets." She straightened up and walked around him holding his gaze, knowing his eyes were focused completely on her. "Now, I am going to demonstrate how you will be punished should you drive me to it." She lifted the small metal wand in her hand so that he could see it clearly and well. "This is a modified cattle prod..." She touched it to his face, just below his right eye. 

He'd had worse, he knew he'd had worse, he kept telling himself he'd had worse without actually recalling it. He knew it and he knew he mustn't cry out; a desperate order came from somewhere within him, 'Don't scream! Don't cry out. Don't give her what she wants!' 

She raised a pale brow and again pressed the wand like thing below his eye. "Do you want this, Snape? Give in and I'll stop it." She let the metal rod touch him again in the same place and again it sent a jolt of pain through his now oversensitive nerves. 

He jerked, turning his head and the instrument slid against his scalp and brushed his ear. He thought his head would explode. He almost hoped it would. 

The agony receded and he realized he was panting. The woman, on the other hand was gazing serenely at something out of view, studying it with a thoughtful, interested expression. "Now that's interesting, Drew," words came from her, directed to another white coated Muggle. 

"His body's very quick to react. I'd say he's not unaccustomed to a spot of torture," an unremarkable tenor replied. 

"Quite, and look at the values! I think I've a better idea what to administer this time round. My goodness, he's recovering already." At that she turned her malevolent eyes to him again. "Snape, say goodbye to all you remember." She laughed because she was quite certain he remembered very little at all.   
  
--   
  
Ron and Harry had no trouble losing themselves in the inventory of their new school supplies (especially certain items that if they weren't already proscribed, they would be very soon after the school term started). Hermoine had stayed overnight in Ginny's room and both girls were sleeping in Hermoine was to be taken home sometime after supper. The house was quiet, then. Molly had gotten Arthur off as usual and she was sitting down with the paper and another round of tea and toast. Not that she was reading the paper. Actually she was ruminating. Last night had been horrible. Not that Severus Snape was Molly's favorite person. Not by far! The man on a good day was sneering and condescending. On a bad day she could almost be convinced of the worst. Almost but not quite. Even so, she would not have believed the lack of concern shown by the majority of the Order members at that hurried meeting. She knew Albus didn't believe the man had simply wandered off! She certainly didn't. 

But what else? No one not of the Order could simply walk in! There were wards, by Merlin! She sniffed indignantly. Vance had accused her of not setting them properly when she went off to Diagon Ally. Arthur had almost leapt from his chair to defend her, but Albus' quiet defense was actually the more effective and likely saved them all from a host of bad feelings. 

Still. Where was Snape? 

The paper forgotten, she climbed to her feet and wandered upstairs. At least she could use up this angry energy cleaning. And since Snape wasn't about, she'd start with his room. The bed looked well used, sheets and blankets rumpled and twisted. And thrown back as if done in haste. She used a cleaning spell and then pulled everything tightly into place. She bent and picked up the pale grey nightshirt-- 

Wait a bit. Nightshirt here. Snape gone? She dropped it again and ran to the wardrobe, flinging the doors open so hard they banged loudly. When Remus and Poppy had brought Snape, they'd had in a bag a shirt and trousers. Snape's archaic shirt and trousers, fitted and long and graced with buttons. Missing. Molly spun about and making a quick search found the dark slippers Snape used when someone reminded him to. 

But he wasn't capable of this! She knew it! He was still not himself, still trusting and dependent on others to guide him. He hardly remembered his name and he was surely still to weak to go off on his own. he simply would not have thought of it! Damn that thief! 

"Bloody hell!" resounded throughout the house, waking the girls and startling the boys and none of them quite believed it was Molly's voice until they heard her running down the stairs. 

Ron and Harry bolted out of their room and hurried after her, impelled by curiosity and no small amount of concern. "Mum?" Ron called out, "Mum? What's wrong?" 

"Mundungus Fletcher is what's wrong!" She threw some floo into the fireplace and called sharply, "Albus Dumbledore!" The boys exchanged uncertain glances and by then Ginny and Hermoine had shown up, still in rumpled nightshirts. 

"What wrong with mum, Ron?" 

"Good morning Molly... Whatever, is the matter?" 

"Albus, you know Fetcher lied, don't you." 

"I know he is hiding something." 

"Why didn't you just use legilimency?" 

"It is terribly intrusive Molly and he's both a friend and --" 

"No, Albus. I don't think he is. I think he knows something about Severus' disappearance." She took a breath. "Severus' clothing is gone, but his nightshirt is here. Either he intended to leave and got dressed, or... he was helped." The last word was clearly a euphemism. "Albus, Severus is not yet able to care for himself. He is quite incapable of thinking ahead!" 

Dumbledore was crestfallen, so much so that all four teens felt an unbearable ache for him. "Thank you Molly. By the way, I spoke to Arthur and Tonks; the Ministry does not have Severus. He is most surely missing again." He stepped away and let the floo connection break. 

Molly simply collapsed into the nearest chair. "Poor Albus," she murmured softly to herself. "This is such a blow." 

"Losing Snape?" Ron asked. 

But his mother shook her head. "Losing faith, I fear. Well, we still have things to do and you have only a few hours before Hermoine must return home. I'll make you all a late breakfast, shall I? Girls, get dressed already!" Mrs Weasley huffed and with renewed, if somewhat forced, energy she marched down to the kitchen and threw herself into creating much more food than even Ron could eat.   
  
--   
  
Albus stared thoughtfully at the fireplace. Dung apparently was not to be found at home. And what would he say to his old friend if he did find him? Molly had made it quite clear that there was more to Severus' disappearance than the young man merely straying accidently. Arthur and Tonks had both confirmed that the young Potions Master was not in Ministry hands. Not at the Ministry holding cells nor even, worse, at Azkaban. 

The other alternative that came to mind was Voldemort. But that was impossible for so many reasons. Mostly, though, no matter what else might have happened, the old wizard was sure that Dung would never betray anyone of them to the Dark Lord. He had feared that the thief was simply trying to cover up some negligence. But this looked like something planned. 

He sighed and with especial reticence threw some floo powder into the hearth, "Alastor Moody!" 

"Mornin' Albus!" came a too cheerful reply very shortly. 

"Alastor, Mundungus is not telling me the truth. What do you know about it?" 

"Snape again? Where is he?" 

"Still missing. What do you know?" Albus felt his patience waning. 

"Snape went missing, Dung was there but apparently not watching him very closely." He scowled more deeply. "Snape hasn't turned up yet?" 

"No. The Drs Granger were most helpful but as of their calls last night no Muggle hospital has had anyone even remotely resembled Severus turn up." 

"Well. That's interesting." 

"How so, Alastor?" 

"For a man who can barely hold his own teacup he seems to be hiding out capably enough." 

"I fear not, my friend. Please try to find Dung and convince him to talk to me about this. Severus truly is in danger, I fear." 

"Yeah, if he's summoned again he might actually get there. Damn!" 


	25. Hidden in Plain Sight

Thank you for reading and even more, thanks to my reviewers!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Hidden in Plain Sight 

* * *

Alastor Moody's scowl cut deep furrows in his already much abused face. Not at the Ministry? Where then? Damn! Surely Merritt wasn't going to commit murder now! He couldn't sit back and just let that happen. He was not about to let the man throw away his entire career no matter how justified and understandable his hate and need for vengeance. Merlin! Snape is not worth it! 

He contacted the Auror offices and left messages for Merritt, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Tonks. Then he paced. And paced some more. Made tea and watched it cool. Flung the pages of _The Daily Prophet_ from front to back. Paced some more. 

It was Tonks who contacted him first and she did so by appearing on his doorstep and knocking loudly. "Oi Moody! It's me, Tonks!" She yelled. 

He yanked open the door and practically pulled her inside. The young witch managed to keep her feet, but she had to grab his arm to do so. He got a look at her neon pink spiked hair and his mouth dropped open. "What the hell is that?!" 

"Like it? I was in the mood for something flashy." She grinned wider and plopped easily into one of his more comfortable chairs. "Your message said you needed to talk to me but it didn't say I needed to sneak over." 

The older wizard shook his head. "Tea?" he offered changing the subject. He shot a warming spell at the teapot anyway. 

"Love some." She settled in comfortably and let the retired Auror come to his point in his own time. 

He carefully poured her a cup and then himself. He took it almost black, but she added a huge dollop of milk and a large spoonful of sugar. She took a sip and gazed over the cup's rim at the clearly agitated wizard. 

"Has Snape shown up at the Ministry?" His question came without preamble. 

"Nope. Why should he? He's lost." She peered at her elder. "He's not lost?" 

"Oh he's lost all right." He set his cup down carefully lest he throw it wildly. 

"You're taking this rather... hard. I thought you didn't like the man." 

"I don't. And I'm not taking it hard, Albus is." 

"Oh." 

"I was hoping Snape had been found and turned over to the Ministry. There haven't been any calls, I suppose." 

"Nothing." 

"Any chance He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has him?" 

"Like we'd know?" 

"He was the Order's -- Dumbledore's -- spy, not the Ministry's." 

"Yeah, well, he's the only one who's had much success with it." She grimaced at the roughness of her own tone. 

"Anything new on the Stonehenge attack?" 

"No, and Mysteries is threatening to take everything away from Arthur." 

"If there was anything to find, he'd have done already." 

"I suppose, but he's been working so hard at it. I think he's convinced there's some clue in that stuff." 

"Or maybe he's hoping to add it to his collection of Muggle plugs." 

"Oh poor Arthur! You know most of his Muggle artifacts collection was destroyed, don't you, Moody?" 

"No, but I guess it figures." He sat back and forced himself to be calm. Tonks didn't know anything. He'd have to go out and find the git himself. "I'm sorry I got you out here for nothing, Tonks." 

"Not to worry, mate. I always enjoy a trip to the countryside." She chuckled. 

"I'd offer lunch but I've got to see a man." 

"No bother, I'll just be off, then. I will let you know if Severus turns up, ok?" 

"Good girl." 

The young witch's smile was as brilliant as her neon hair. 

Moody shut the door after her and with a wave of his wand cleared away the tea things. He then went about the cottage gathering and pocketing a few of those shields and alarms that he deemed necessary components of a well dressed Auror's ensemble and then he disapparated to Diagon Ally. From there he headed to Knockturn Ally, all pretense of furtiveness dismissed without even a moment's consideration. He wanted to be seen. Let them cower who remembered his skill. Let them wonder who did not. 

He paused outside a dank and miserable public house known less for its butterbeer than for its purveyance of questionable delights of unquestionable illegality. He did not enter. Not because he was afraid, for he was not. But rather because he knew the only Aurors he would find in there were those chatting up their informants. If Merritt did happen to be there, he'd be working. Moody turned away and left the evil place in peace. 

Instead, he bought an ice cream sundae and settled comfortably in one of Florean Fortescue's outdoor tables. No reason to hide and by now anyone who cared had to know the old coot was about. 

Besides, he liked ice cream. 

He was just down to the last few spoonfuls and these were almost melted already, (he'd taken off the keep cool charm), when a tall, figure in pale grey robes settled into the chair across from him. He looked up to find, not Merritt, but Raoul, the most verbose of one of the four companions. "Well. Not who I expected, but you'll do, lad." 

The balding strawberry blond grinned. "I'll have to, old man." 

"Where's Snape?" Mad-Eye licked off his spoon and stared at the other man with both eyes. To the younger Auror's credit, and Moody's expectations, he did not flinch. 

"Couldn't say." 

Mad-Eye studied him for a moment. "I don't want to see a brilliant career go down in flames, lad. Not yours and not Merritt's. He's a fool if he doesn't turn the Death Eater over to the Ministry." 

"Too late, Mad-Eye. What's done is done." The debonair Auror folded his arms across his chest, affecting a self-satisfied aspect. 

Raoul seemed content to play this as a game, but it was no game to the old ex-Auror. "Don't be stupid. Snape was in no shape to fight back, and Merritt isn't overfond of drawn out torture. If he's killed him--" 

"I think Merritt could well make an exception in this case, Mad-Eye. But no, we are not torturing Dumbledore's supposed spy. Nor have we killed him." 

"Look here. There's not many other alternatives." 

"Not many, no." 

"The Dark Lord?" 

"NO!" The vehemence was honest. "What do you take us for? We're none of us traitors. If anyone is, it's Severus Snape. No. We've found him a... better home." 

"Where, you bloody idiot?!" 

Raoul smiled, once more the epitome of collected self-assurance. "We gave him back to the Muggles." he was rewarded by a look of utter shock on the old man's face. For once the old goat was speechless. "We owe them something too." Raoul stood, gave a small nod of salutation and swept off. 

Moody let him go without a word. His brain had not yet decided on the proper reaction when yet another bulk claimed the seat across the table. He looked up with an unusual but fleeting moment's surprise at the bald black man and his trademark golden hoop earring. "Good afternoon, Alastor. I never took you for an aficionado of such treats," he waved imprecisely at the now empty bowl of ice cream. 

"I wasn't always an old curmudgeon, Shaklebolt," he growled back testily. 

"Hm." The slow voice drawled, "What did he want?" 

"He's one of yours, you should know." 

"Actually, he's not. The Ministry calls them 'Special Services' Aurors." he shrugged. "They have their own office and their own cases for the most part." 

"They?" 

"Four of them. They were a team back during You-Know-Who's first rise." 

"I remember. They're still together? That's unusual." 

Shaklebolt nodded noncommittally. "All right old man, I know something's going on here..." 

Moody sighed. "No, just putting out feelers. Dumbledore is upset. It makes for a distracted leader and the Order can't afford distractions." 

"Is that why you left messages for Tonks and me, then?" 

"Yeah. Tonks says the Ministry doesn't have him." 

"He's not being held there. Unless someone's holding him incommunicado, the Ministry does not have him. Did you think they would?" 

Moody looked back at the narrowed, suspicious eyes of his colleague. "One can only hope," he replied flatly. 

"Have you seen Dung lately?" 

"No. Not since yesterday's fiasco." 

"What did you think of his story?" The Auror leaned forward in the chair. 

"What is to think about? He was busy smokin' that foul pipe of his and Snape walked out." 

"Molly doesn't think Snape was capable of that." 

"Well, he did seem to need help getting about, but I fancy it was all an act, myself. Molly Weasley is entirely too trusting." 

"I suppose it's possible. Well, I've got to get back to looking for Dung. He's the closest we have to a witness." 

"Yeah. Oh, anything new on those Muggle Artifacts and that Slytherin banner?" 

"Not sure. As of an hour ago the whole lot was sent to Mysteries. Arthur's not a happy man." 

"Ah well, then. That's the end of that." Moody climbed slowly to his feet, almost as if the act was painful. Who knows, it might have been. He hobbled off, deep in thought. He turned the mad eye backwards and observed the younger Auror scrutinizing him. _Constant Vigilance,_ he thought to himself wryly.   
  
--   
  
_Forget._

Forget Molly? Forget Remus? 

No. "No," 

He woke then, eyes opened without his command, finding himself prone on a hard floor, but not bound in any way. He sat up. Much too quickly for the brightness surged and spun he thought he might vomit. Collapsing weakly, he slammed shut his eyes and waited for everything to settle down again. 

Much more slowly he brought himself upright, and, feeling a hard surface behind him, leaned his back against it. Now, he opened his eyes and took in the small brilliantly lit cubicle. It was tastelessly furnished with a narrow cot against one wall and a toilet against another and absolutely nothing else. 

Not a dungeon, exactly. Much too clean and bright. Perhaps, though, darkness would be better. 

As he sat there, unmoving and unmoved, he realized he hurt. Not a lot. Left over from... What? His eyebrows knitted in distressed confusion. Molly?" he whispered. Then, "Remus?" But naturally there came no reply. They would not have abandoned him here! Someone did, someone had taken him from the safe place and left him here. Someone. A man. Who carried a cloud of some foul stench about his person. A man who said they'd have Tea out. he remembered that. And a miniature coppice of pale green. And then nothing but sharp pain and the blonde woman. 

Again.   
  
--   
  
It was late and the moon was full. Or as near to it as he could tell. Alastor Moody gazed up at the full brilliant orb and thought of Remus Lupin stuck at Hogwarts dosed with Wolfsbane Potion and howling at the luminous midnight goddess. Werewolves. Dangerous creatures but only once a month (or rarely twice when there came the rare Blue Moon). Dangerous if they didn't drink the potion. Poor Remus. He certainly did not deserve such a terrible life. 

The ex-Auror lowered his gaze (he was only using his normal eye though, the other was dancing about keeping watch) and made his way to his front door. Almost there, his magical eye found a disturbance. He recognized it at once. "Dung. I've been looking for you." 

"I've been busy, Mad-Eye." 

"Come inside, then." He waved the other wizard ahead, checking his wards in case anything untoward had occurred in his absence. Nothing. Just Dung hanging about the place just beyond the wards. Smart. 

The small cottage was not so much decorated as filled. And as everyone who had ever been inside knew, the place was filled with such trinkets as aided in Moody's defenses. There was also a bit of furniture, such as the comfortable chair Tonks had commandeered earlier that day. Moody took that and left Dung to sit in another, less plushly upholstered chair. "Albus wants to speak with you." 

Fletcher seemed to deflate then. "It's not going over very well." 

"What made you think it would? Those Aurors turned Snape over to some Muggles." 

"Better them than He-Who-Must--" 

"Oh shut it, you bloody fool. If I'd known that was their intent--" He broke off suddenly. "Margaret Alice! Damn them! Damn me for not realizing it and right in front of my nose!" 

"What are you going on about?" 

"Stay there!" Moody surged toward his fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder, throwing it in with an angry force. "Albus Dumbledore!" 


	26. Repercussions

Thank you for reading and even more, thanks to my reviewers!

(Drusilla, I hope you're feeling better and I send an especial thank you for the marvelous compliment!) blush

For some reason, this chapter was difficult. Edited to repair continuity flaw

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Repercussions 

* * *

Albus was in the midst of an evening's quiet contemplation of the day's events (or perhaps lack of them) when Alastor Moody's gruff voice in the fireplace shattered the comfortable silence. "Alastor? What has you so excited? Has something happened?" 

"We need to talk Albus. Dung and I... Headquarters is probably best and you'll need to gather a few folks." 

Dumbledore's eyebrows migrated up his forehead. "Mundungus? Is he with you? Is this about Severus?" 

"Yes to all of those." 

At the time, the Headmaster had not asked for further explanation. Now, with a goodly number of the Order hastily assembled, he was anxious to hear everything the two men had to say and everyone he'd contacted had arrived. And then some. He was well aware of the three pairs of Extendable Ears (Hermoine had been taken home as her parents were, after all, expecting her and no one agreed with the teens that she should stay) waiting on every word. "Alastor?" he prodded gingerly but firmly. 

But it was Fletcher who spoke up. "I didn't have much choice, really. They blackmailed me, nothing all that bad compared to, say, Death Eaters, but you know I'm into a few things... that could be misinterpreted--" he ignored Molly Weasley's indignant snort "--by folks in the Ministry..." He paused to take a long breath. 

"Get on with it," Kingsley Shaklebolt rumbled exasperatedly. "We're not Hit Wizards, we don't care about your petty crime at the moment." 

"You may not but others would--" He grimaced. "They could make it very bad for me. They wanted Snape. These Aurors. They said they'd get rid of the files if I helped them. So I did." He slumped in his seat, defeated though not particularly remorseful; it was only Snape after all, not the Order, he'd betrayed. 

"I know these Aurors, Albus," Moody took over. "As do you Kingsley." 

"Raoul? Merritt?" Understanding lit the Auror's dark face, remembering Alastor and Raoul at Florean's. 

"Yeah. Well, the important thing is that they've handed Snape over to Muggles." Moody ended his over terse report in a grimmer than usual voice. 

"Muggles!" One witch gasped. "Why?" 

"Merritt and a particular Muggle share a connection. Merritt's first partner, Eric Sellinger had a Muggle sister. I know her, she's a very determined lady." He paused and grimaced at Albus' patiently waiting gaze. "She is knowledgeable about Wizards and she works for an official Muggle intelligence service called Mi6." 

Upstairs Harry's eyes went wide but Ginny and Ron only looked confused at his expression of shock. All three teens kept silent and strained to hear the rest. 

"She's... something like an Auror?" Mrs Weasley was struggling to understand things. 

"No, Margaret Alice is an expert on the human psyche and physiology." 

"Eh?" Mundungus was lost. (Ron and Ginny were as mystified as the thief but as they weren't included in the meeting figured Hermoine could explain it later. They planned on reporting the whole thing to her anyway.) 

"She studies how people think and respond to situations both mentally and physically," Tonks explained. 

"She believes that Snape killed her brother and she wants revenge." 

"Did he?" Another wizard asked. 

"Probably," Moody sneered. He hadn't actually seen it. "Those of you who remember Grindelwald will also remember the Muggle War. This group is the Secret Intelligence Service, Mi6, that was so active then." 

"Wouldn't she simply kill him outright?" the same wizard proposed hopefully. 

"Honestly, if I thought that, I never would have brought any of this up," Moody growled holding Dumbledore's sad gaze with his cold one. "No, some of you will recall that Muggle group got much too close to finding out about us. Merlin only knows what the Muggle Prime Minister tells them. Isolation is the only answer for us, too bad the fools don't realize it." He was beginning to rant. 

"Where would they be holding Severus, Alastor?" Dumbledore's voice was quiet, considered. He was not going to let this interview stray off into nonessential paths. 

"I don't know." 

"What could these people possibly do that would hurt us?" the witch who'd made the earlier query now asked. "What can he tell them that they would even believe?" She was a bit too young to have been involved in the conflicts of the 1940s so, like many others, was rather confused as to why Moody and Dumbledore (and one or two others) were so concerned. 

"Because, my dear, if they already believe he is a wizard, they will want to find some way to control his magic for themselves." Alastor explained sharply, speaking as if she were too dim witted to truly comprehend the situation. 

But she did then and so did everyone else. There was a collective gasp from around the table (and two from upstairs). 

"That's what they were doing originally, but it backfired because as a Pureblood he reacted unexpectedly to the muggle potions they were using to try to control him! So they dumped him into one of their horrible places like so much trash!" The whole thing fell neatly into place for Molly Weasley. Her eyes widened as the words fell from her lips. "I never would have believed it!" 

Dumbledore and Moody could only nod in agreement. Fletcher looked ill. No one had to say it. No one could not realize then that the missing wizard had to be found. They diverged, however, on their opinions as to what actions should then be taken. 

"It is most imperative that we find out where Severus is being held. I know each of you will do what you can. But I cannot stress enough that care must be taken not to involve any more Muggles, not to reveal to anyone what we are about. Not even the Ministry." He passed his gaze around the table. "If there is nothing else, we are adjourned. But Alastor, Mundungus I would ask you to remain." 

While everyone else got up to leave, those two men blanched and Molly said pointedly to Arthur, "Why don't we check on the children dear?" 

The room cleared quickly, Tonks shooting an uncertain but sympathetic glance to Mad-Eye while Molly's glare was nothing short of a silent glare somehow incongruently loud enough to make the two men towards whom it was directed wince in pain. Meanwhile, the 'children' in question scrambled to put away the Extendable Ears and look as innocent as possible. Ron and Harry had set up a game of wizards chess before the meeting and by the time Mr and Mrs Weasley had got upstairs seemed perfectly engrossed it , while Ginny was curled up with a book nearby. 

Back in the kitchen, three men waited until the eldest was certain there was no one to hear their conversation. "Mundungus, I am greatly disappointed," he said with such gentleness that the other two men cringed in overwhelming dismay that they might be responsible for this. 

"Look, Headmaster, it wasn't as if I volunteered. They had a file, you know my usual ... business isn't quite.. erm..." 

"Yes, I know. I understand your reason, child, but I am unsure that I can forgive you just yet." He sighed. "Fear often makes us do things we regret." He stared hard at the thief. "But I fear you do not regret your actions in so far as they concern Severus." 

"I'll be honest, Dumbledore. I don't like the man. No one does, you know. You believe he's our spy. I can't tell either way. But I am sorry I hurt you." 

The old man nodded. "I understand. Please leave, Mundungus." 

The thief paled. "Are you throwing me out of the Order?" 

"No. No, I am not. You are also important to our fight and to us. But I shall have to limit my trust for a while. Do you understand?" 

"Yeah. I suppose I do. Erm..." 

"Please consider your actions more carefully, Mundungus. You should have come to me when you were first threatened. You should have known to do that." 

Mundungus' head hung as he felt both shame and the shock that he had indeed made a right mess of things and had, perhaps, been a fool to boot. "Thank you, sir. Good night," he said at last and dragged himself out of headquarters. 

Moody had sat unmoved and impassive the whole time. he knew his old friend was not going to be as kindly towards him. "No, Albus," he made the first move. "I am not sorry for my actions except that I was stupid. You say he's a spy. Well, if he is, he's a damned ineffective one. But spy or not, he's a traitor to everyone and deserves nothing less than a long,. brutal stay at Azkaban!" He did not reiterate his favorite 'once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater' refrain however. 

"You had no right, Alastor! No right at all. What exactly was your part in this treachery! No one can possibly blackmail you!" The ancient Headmaster's eyes raged as fiercely as his words. 

"Do you think so little of me, Albus? Actually, I didn't do anything." He was almost smug. "I saw Dung and Snape leave the house and followed them to that lot at thirty-four. I saw four Aurors approach and stun them. I wasn't sure what they had planned for Dung so I revealed myself and told them to leave him." He paused and sighed. This truth might well destroy his friendship with the old wizard. "I let them drag Snape off. I figured there'd be a little torture and then the Death Eater would have a short trial and end up in Azkaban. Justice served." 

He expected an explosion; a tirade of angry words. He got neither. Albus Dumbledore slumped in his chair and let his face drop into his hands. Both men remained motionless until Dumbledore roused himself and looked up. His face was wet with tears that tracked into his beard. "You are too harsh, Alastor. Too set in your opinions and too sure of yourself. You are not Severus Snape's judge, not his jury. My word, my voucher was not enough for you. It is I who makes the decisions for the Order, Alastor Moody, not you! If you cannot accept that then you are welcome to separate yourself from the Order!" His voice, which had started out soft and pained but steady slowly crescendoed til his tone revealed both hurt and anger. 

"Is that what you wish Albus? That we end both friendship and allegiance here and now?" 

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. He became calm but cold. "No, Alastor. That is not what I want. I am... angry. Perhaps... Perhaps it is best if we speak of this another time. But I ask you to consider that your betrayal, for that is what it was, of Severus is also a betrayal of our friendship."   
  
--   
  
The tiny room was bright with a luminance that pounded through his closed eyes. Even so, he would have been asleep had not nearly every drop of his head generated a painful shock that reverberated through his body and forced him awake. Although once in a while, instead, he was punished with a dousing of frigid water that rained down from the ceiling. 

He was shivering, he was in agony, he was exhausted, he was confused. 

She called him a murderer and he now believed her. He wished she'd simply kill him and get it over with. But perhaps he was also a torturer and so deserved whatever she did to him. But he couldn't remember. All he recalled was Molly and Remus. A thick grey fog enshrouded the rest and he wondered if perhaps it was better that way. 

Undirected, his tongue flicked out to lick at the drop of water that meandered down his cheek. It was oddly salty.   
  



	27. Matter and Mind: Impatience

Thank you for reading. Apologies for the delay. This chapter was a bit troublesome in its composing. Next one should be up shortly.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Matter and Mind: Impatience 

* * *

A door slid open allowing two young men access to the small cell. They grabbed the prisoner by his arms and hauled him more or less upright in order to drag him out of the room. The prisoner did not resist. Then again, it could hardly be said he even noticed, despite being fully conscious. Trained to be wary, they nonetheless were fairly confident the dark haired man would give them no trouble and indeed, all the way down the hall and into the lift, this was so. Then the lift doors closed and the small box began to descend with a small shudder. 

Suddenly the prisoner stiffened and tried to pull away but the two guards held him fast as his weak struggles were nothing to them but an inconvenience. The only thing either of them thought odd was the fact that the prisoner never made a single sound. In any case, once the lift had settled to a halt and the doors opened again, they resumed dragging the prisoner to the designated destination, a somewhat largish laboratory containing a large tank of warm salt water and a variety of machinery and equipment neither guard knew the workings of. 

Dr Sellinger was already there conversing with the lab's technician. They both glanced up as the prisoner was brought in and Sellinger's eyes passed over the trio stopping only to linger on the prisoner's face. Her own expression hardened and betrayed a surprisingly fierce loathing such that even the guards were taken aback. Quickly she returned her attention to the technician and finished the discussion. Then she stood back and watched in silence while the now pliant prisoner was stripped and reclothed in the modified diving suit, tubes and electrodes planted as required. The prisoner made several feeble attempts to resist especially when the mark on his left arm was revealed. But these came to naught and soon enough he was plunged into the dark nothingness of sensory deprivation. 

Sellinger smiled in satisfaction. The old drugs were almost completely out of his system and thanks to the most recent tests she had reformulated her plan into one she was more than sure guaranteed success.   
  
--   
  
It was not unpleasant, the all consuming silence, the lack of pain, and the absence of brightness. Not at first. At first it was quite restful, a respite from the frigid water that rained down upon him, a respite from the shocks that jolted his body with lancing pain. At first it was quite a welcome change and he almost fell asleep. 

Almost. 

Except Something wouldn't let him and he didn't know what it was and it was too quiet and too nothing and too... 

Is anyone there? Here? 

Where? 

Molly? 

Remus?   
  
--   
  
Sound. 

_Thump thump_ ... _thump thump_ ... 

It impinged on his consciousness for only a moment, only long enough for him to realize he heard something. And then it was gone and there was again only silence.   
  
--   
  
He tried to bite his tongue. He couldn't find either tongue or teeth and began to wonder if he'd somehow managed to misplace his body. 

Or maybe he was dead. At last. But... was this death? To be aware with nothing to be aware of? 

He would have laughed if he'd had a voice to laugh with. 

It must be death, there was no hunger or pain only the dull throb of constant unremitting exhaustion. 

So this was death. 

Boring. 

Boring. 

Why couldn't he have been a ghost at least? 

A ghost? 

Like the Bloody Baron. 

Who?   
  
--   
  
_Please father let me out. Please..._

--   
  
A whole week had passed since Snape's second disappearance. Albus Dumbledore was hard pressed to keep up the façade of tranquil joviality even through the welcoming feast. But the children deserved that much, especially the incoming first years. So he did his best and his blue eyes twinkled merrily behind his half-moon spectacles. Professor McGonagall herded in these newest additions to the school with her usual composed severity and the Sorting Hat sang its song while everyone waited, the first years, as usual, with varying degrees of anxiousness and terror, the older students with affected boredom and very real appetite (as they anticipated the piles of delectables to come). 

The Order was at an impasse. They knew who had Severus but not where she (or perhaps 'they' was more applicable at this point) held him. Was he even alive? Both Moody and the Headmaster agreed that he probably was. At Moody's suggestion a constant watch had been set up at the woman's residence. So far she had not appeared, but neither had she packed up and left. The problem was that there was no way to know when she would return. It could very easily be far too late by then. But no other actions were turning up anything of use. Though they had not an ounce of magic in them, these Muggles were more than adept at hiding themselves from any, and all, prying scrys. 

Equally disturbing in its own way was the silence from Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters. Not a single attack all week. The _Daily Prophet_ had run out of things to write about on that front and was now devoting itself to the financial drain of having so many Aurors and paying for their retirements and medical care. 

A loud round of applause signaled to the Headmaster that the last student had been sorted and he brought himself back to the activities of the feast.   
  
--   
  
As she had done everyday twice a day for the past week, Margaret Sellinger checked the readouts, then the tubes of fluids being pumped in and withdrawn. The subject was responding almost exactly as she had anticipated. Perhaps a bit more weight loss than calculated, but nothing life threatening. Only a week. Purebloods were so much more fragile when confronted by science and technology. Perhaps it would be easier than she had anticipated to purge the world of them. 

She watched the technician take the daily blood samples and label them for overnight analysis. She did not expect any surprises, but was not one for shoddy work. Indeed, she expected that one day she would be able to publish a veritable suite of papers on this adventure. She did not notice the tiny smile that began to play about her lips. The technician did, but merely assumed the senior scientist was in a good mood because all did seem to be going very well. 

She replaced the clipboard and turned to the technician, "I'm going to make the initial short contact, wait outside. I don't to chance any stray vibrations." 

The tech complied with a curt nod and while he retreated to the outer observation hall, Margaret picked up the thin microphone wire that snaked out from the primary workstation. As soon as the door snicked shut she toggled the mike to send. 

"I am Control."   
  
--   
  



	28. Matter and Mind: Patience

Thank you for reading and thanks for the encouragement of my reviewers!

Interestingly, this story does take some turns I didn't necessarily expect. Like Tonks showing up at the end of the chapter.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Matter and Mind: Patience 

* * *

_"I am Control."_

He felt something then, a deep throbbing agony where he'd once thought he'd had a heart. Back when he'd been alive. The Voice came from everywhere, filling him, giving him form, granting him thought. _"You are my servant, my knight, my champion."_

"Am I not dead?" He asked without speaking (he'd forgotten he had ever had a voice). 

_"I will return when I deem you worthy of my attention."_ The Voice stated without replying to his question. And then, it abandoned him completely to screaming silence.   
  
--   
  
_"I am Control."_ Came the blessed greeting that sent him into ecstasy. He was wretched when it left him to the emptiness of his death. It never answered a single question. It pretended not to hear him! But it must have heard him for it spoke to him! It knew him! Was it just a matter of obedience? What did it want? It never said! It only told him he was not ready but that when he was, he would serve the Voice. How? How can he serve the Voice? What could it possibly need or want that he could provide? It never answered his questions. It simply announced itself, filled him, then left, emptying him again. He stopped asking questions. 

It was not enough. The agony of the terrible waiting filled every moment that he was alone. He stopped thinking altogether. 

Still it was not enough. 

At last he stopped existing except when the voice filled him.   
  
--   
  
Margaret Sellinger studied the telemetry that had been recorded over the past three days comparing it to that of the first three days. He was broken. He was hers! No longer did the body within the tank do anything more than what was automatic or done for it. "Phase Two at last," she murmured to herself, nearly breathless with the anticipation of her success. 

She fairly ran to the lab remembering her professionalism barely in time to arrive collected and not a bit out of breath. The technician on duty looked up from her study of the live telemetry readings at the senior scientist's unexpected entrance. 

"Good morning Dr Sellinger." 

"Good morning Petrie. Have room one prepared and the team summoned. We're moving on to Phase Two." She turned away from the other woman and reached for the microphone. She paused to take a deep breath and steady the excitement out of her voice. Then she toggled the mike, "I am Control," she announced as usual. And of course, telemetry registered the subject's increased heartbeat and increased brain functions. "I shall give you form, and your form substance," she continued in the same commanding tone as usual. Then she killed the mike and waited for the team to arrive. 

They came and did their work with well executed efficiency, removing the man from the tank and reinstalling him in the adjoining room. He was stripped and laid on the hospital bed. she ignored the techs' widening eyes when they viewed the many scars the subject carried and neither dared say a word though she was sure there'd be gossip later. Leads were switched and tested and soon a web of tubes and cables snaked from the body to hissing and clunking machinery nourishing and sustaining the body as well as keeping track of all reactions. His eyes and ears were padded and swathed in bandages so as to keep out both light and sound. When he began to wheeze, a mask was placed over both mouth and nose to pump oxygen he needed. The team was dismissed though a single nurse merely went to wait in the observation foyer just outside the glass walled room. 

Sellinger watched in silence until twitching fingers heralded Snape's return to consciousness. She lifted the microphone that's leads fed directly to his auditory nerves. "I am Control." 

She felt her own flush as his body shuddered at the sound of her voice. 

"I have given you form. I return you to life. I will instruct you. You are mine. If you prove unworthy I will abandon you." Each word was carefully enunciated. Each short phrase spoken without emotion. He would know only her words and only her truth would exist. The body stilled except for the rise and fall of his diaphragm as he inhaled and exhaled. As her silence continued that too slowed and became shallow. She thumbed off the mike again and gestured to the observation foyer for the nurse to return as she herself took her leave. 

The nurse frowned at the supine man. She knew vaguely that he was the test subject of some highly classified research. The details were probably beyond her, but it didn't matter. Her job was to care for the body of an apparently comatose man. She replaced the nearly emptied bag of glucose. Seeing that nothing else was needed she returned to her station at the console and, after a furtive glance to make sure she was not being observed herself, pulled out a magazine.   
  
--   
  
_"I am Control."_ The Voice filled him and brought him life again. His whole existence was centered on pleasing Control so that he would not be abandoned. He must have done well enough for he was given sight. It was a painful gift, causing at first an immense headache that pummeled him mercilessly. But it was not permanent and he was grateful to Control for that as well. Then Control gave him motion. He was allowed to use the form, the body, as if it was his own. He was given a garment to use to cover himself much like the men who came to take him from place to place except the pockets and shoulder decorations had been ripped off his. He was given a room that had a bed and a toilet. The men hit him sometimes, but it was only when Control told them to and so he didn't try to protect himself. He obeyed every directive Control gave him, yearning only for that Voice to fill him with its purpose. 

He stood patiently, waiting as She walked around him. Control's voice came at last from within. "You will be my champion." It echoed throughout his mind sending waves of rapture throughout his body. He trembled without realizing it. "Return to your cell," Control commanded and he left with the two men. 

Margaret Sellinger bit off a smile as the subject almost moaned with ecstasy at the sound of her voice in his head. It amused her to think she could order the man to kill himself and he'd be nearly orgasmic at the prospect. "Phase Two complete," she whispered to herself when she was alone. 

She returned to her office and filled out some of the inescapable paperwork that accompanied any government activity and then pretended to read some journals. Just before the change of shifts she got ready to leave the site herself. it had been several weeks since she'd first arrived with Snape and she was long overdue for a night in her own bed. Maybe dinner out at an elegant restaurant first. She smiled to herself as she fantasized taking the weekend off for herself. Snape would suffer extreme loneliness without Control. It could only help solidify his need and the bond, in her opinion. Besides, she wanted to pick up some other clothing; she was so bored of the same three suits over and over again.   
  
--   
  
It was Tonks' day off but she had volunteered to take a watch shift at Sellinger's apartment. After more than a month without any sightings without even the smallest clue, there wasn't anyone except Albus Dumbledore who held any hope that Severus would be found. But no one was able to convince him to lose hope and truthfully, there weren't many who were willing to work that hard to convince him to concede the point. Tonks had figured at the very least she'd get some reading done. She'd picked up a Muggle book by someone called Hawking and while it wasn't the fictional novel she'd thought it, the book, "A Brief History of Time," was riveting. Big Bangs and whatnot. Fascinating stuff. But weighty for someone as unfamiliar with Muggle science as she was. 

The late September afternoon was cooling quickly with the sun low in the sky. She closed her book, yawned and stretched and when she opened her eyes saw someone unsettlingly familiar enter the apartment building across the street. Short blonde hair? Damn! Sellinger?! 

Oh yes, no doubt about it, for only a few moments later she felt the signaling of the wards that had been placed in and about the apartment go off in frantic warning. She pulled out the antique looking silver toned compact from her seventies vintage cloth bag and hastily murmured her partner's name. "Kingsley! Kingsley Shaklebolt!" 

Sellinger was still up in her apartment, but for how long?. Why wasn't he-- 

"Tonks?" 

"Wotcher. Guess who's come home to her roost?" 

"What? Who?" Long pause while the confusion on the dark face became unbelieving shock. "Sellinger?" 

"Yep. She went in about... ten minutes ago." She looked up to make sure her taking to herself was not drawing any attention yet, while she pretended to fiddle with her hair while looking in the mirror. 

"Do you think you can follow her?" 

"Easily. I'll just keep morphing. She'll never notice." 

"Right then. I'll tell Dumbledore. Stay in touch, Tonks. I want to hear from you at regular intervals. She may be only a Muggle but she's dangerous and the people she works for even more so." 

"Right, right. D'you think I might get some backup, then?" 

"I don't doubt you'll need it. Don't try any rescues by yourself, got that?" 

The young witch laughed. "I'll not pull a Gryffindor, Kingsley. No worries. Here she comes. Later!" She snapped the compact shut without waiting for the man's reply. She'd long ago paid for her last tea and a salad so she only had to get up and leave the bistro-like outdoor table. Which would have been fine except she tripped over a chair that was not quite pushed in. Thankfully the only attention that attracted was from the young couple snogging at another, nearby table. She blushed, they blushed, she hurried off after the thankfully unaware scientist. 


	29. Stolen Nights and Standing Stones

Thank you for reading and even more, thanks to my reviewers for all the amusement, encouragement, and your thoughts!

Sorry for delay in posting but it's been hectic here, what with RL and the small flood... 

Also, frockcoat button site URL is... www . firefancies . com / darkpotions / frockcoatfetish.htm 

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Stolen Nights and Standing Stones 

* * *

It was dark, night having fallen some time ago, but the woman was still driving around apparently aimlessly. Tonks was getting tired of flying at last. It was cold even when the sun was out as flight so high above the ground entailed a great rush of wind buffeting you and your broom. She was almost certain that she could feel her fingers going numb -- even with the warming charm she'd wisely called forth earlier! But though she groused fervently to herself, she didn't let this discomfort distract her, not once losing sight of the Muggle vehicle winding its way through the countryside. 

She had just taken a deep breath for yet another creative rendition of English swearing when the rented car turned down a dirt road that wound circuitously to a well kept and neatly hidden manor. Between driveway and mansion, however, a gated entrance and guardhouse kept vigil. The young Auror forgot about both discomfort and ranting as she circled invisibly overhead watching the car slow down and stop at the guardhouse. After a short time, the gate was opened and the car was driven through. The vehicle did not stop but passed by the house and Tonks then realized the drive meandered on through a broad copse of trees to a small lot near a plain stone building. The Muggle woman parked her car and got out, dragging her overnight bag after her. She walked quickly to the single entrance and pausing fiddle with something at the door which soon opened just long enough for her to slip inside. 

Tonks briefly considered following but decided to take Kingsley's orders to heart. She'd be an idiot to go barreling in with neither backup nor plan. And who was to say that Snape actually was here, anyway? 

Where else would he be? 

"Tonks!" She heard emanate from her bag. 

Right. The mirror. Great. She let her broom hover and balanced herself upright as she dug through the bag in search of the antique compact. Her fingers closed on the cool surface and she pulled it out slowly, (lest something else get pulled out with it). She pried it open and saw a very worried face peering at her impatiently. 

"Wotcher Kingsley! She's par--" 

"Forget the Muggle. Get yourself to Stonehenge immediately!" 

"What?! Why?! Another attack?!" 

"Yes, go! I'll meet you there, or someone will. Hurry!" 

Tonks snapped shut the artifact and dropped it back in the bag without another thought. She landed unseen and apparated, thankful that she'd been to the ancient site previously.   
  
--   
  
_"I gave you form and substance. Know that you are nothing but a conduit for my power."_ Control had returned to fill him with its semblance of being. Ecstasy overwhelmed him so that his vision was blinded by its glare. _"We will see if you are strong enough to be that conduit. First, I shall give you voice so that you may speak to me when I allow it. You may give thanks."_

Obediently he replied, "Thank you, Control," ashamed at once that the sounds he made were grating and raspy. He stood motionless in the center of the room where the two men had brought him, unaware of the men and women watching him from the outer observation room, barely aware of Her circling him while Control spoke its thoughts in his otherwise empty mind. But there followed a long silence and he became aware of the roughly woven cloth of the garment that enshrouded him neck to ankles and wrists. He became aware of the cold metallic floor against the soles of his feet. Awareness puzzled him for it seemed oddly and frighteningly familiar. 

She stopped in front of him and held out a thin stick. _"Take the wand,"_ Control's voice ordered. 

Of course he obeyed and as he did, he felt a sense of rightness. 

She pointed to a crate settled in one of the corners. Control's voice ordered, _"Raise that."_

Instinctively, he pointed the wand and knew the crate would rise.   
  
--   
  
Lightning flashed in the distance but there were no clouds that anyone could see. It had to be some kind of government cover up, the authorities weren't letting anyone get any closer than 5 kilometers to the ancient standing stones. The modern Druids who claimed it as their own special heritage were not placated by any of the assurances the police and military officials were giving them. On the other hand, it was, as one man out it, safer here, than there. 

Death Eaters and Aurors flung curses and hexes and charms at one another as the former seemed to retreat toward the towering stones of the inner circles. The Aurors continued their assault, unwavering in their determination to vanquish the enemy. 

And then there came a single loud crash and the entire prehistoric site disappeared behind an impenetrable dome of muddy gloom. The thunder faded into a weak quiet held together by occasional cackles that accompanied small bursts of lightning embedded in the roiling fog of the dome. There was no sign of the Death Eaters except those that had already been felled earlier in the battle. 

"Bloody hell, what is it?!" Someone hissed in frustration while his colleagues gathered around to stare at the impediment. 

A tall sandy haired Auror put out his hand warily. "Someone has to try something," he muttered. But his fingertips came to an abrupt halt and his eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead in surprise. 

"What?" 

"It feels solid. Smooth." 

Several others copied his research. The shield, for what else could it be?, did not react. It didn't need to as no one had any idea on how to penetrate it. 

"Do you suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is in there?" A recently trained up Auror asked uncertainly. 

"I have no doubt about it," Kingsley Shacklebolt replied worriedly to his subordinate. "We will set up a Watch. And we certainly can't let any Muggles get near." He shot a look at Tonks and mouthed a single word, _Dumbledore._ He had already moved on to the task of setting a watch schedule even as the young woman disapparated. 

Tonks apparated to the apparation boundary that clothed Hogwarts and then ran all the way to the great doors and pounded mightily on them til they opened, seemingly of their own accord. She thought to look down and her anxious eyes lit upon a tiny house-elf dressed in a Hogwarts teacloth. "Miss is waking up the whole--" 

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry, but I really must see Headmaster Dumbledore at once." Tonks barely held herself back from, figuratively anyway, storming the castle. "I know where his office is, I was a student here, you know." 

The elf nodded but said, "Yes I remember Miss. But Miss is not student now and we has rules." 

"Cheeky little thing! But I understand. Children need to be protected. Please let me in--" 

"Lilla, who--" Minerva McGonagall, in dressing gown and slippers held her candle up as she moved to the still opened doors. "Tonks! What are you doing here?" 

The pink haired Auror moved into the grand foyer, "You-Know-Who is at Stonehenge. He's cut it off completely! I need to see Professor Dumbledore!" Her (presently) hazel eyes begged the older witch to get a move on. 

McGonagall nodded, her expression becoming grim. She glanced at the waiting elf. "Lilla, Tonks is welcome here. Thank you." 

"Lilla bring tea to Headmaster's office," the elf announced before popping away. The two human witches hurried off to Dumbledore's chambers, both expecting he would no doubt be awake and alert and awaiting them. 

Indeed, both the wizard and the tea were awaiting them and though she allowed herself to be coaxed into taking a few gulps of the calming infusion, Tonks related the whole episode as soon as she was seated in a plush armchair beneath the slumbering portrait of one of the long dead headmasters that preceded Dumbledore. 

"This is indeed grave news. He is contained because he contains himself, not because we contain him," the old wizard mused carefully, stroking his long beard in thought. Both witches waited in silence, watching him think as they themselves also tried to consider what this news meant for the War. 

Dumbledore, though dressed in his usual outrageously decorated nightwear, did not appear at all comical. His sapphire eyes did not twinkle in the slightest. His concern was palpable and both his companions knew this did not bode well. 

"I suppose this means we have to give up on rescuing Severus," Tonks offered softly at last. "I think I may have found him tonight," she added when both her elders' heads shot up and they glared at her with twin expressions of shock. "Of course. You couldn't have known." She grimaced. 

"Did you see him, then, my dear?" McGonagall asked. 

Tonks had to shake her head. "No. But Sellinger finally returned to her apartment and finally left it again. I followed her to some remote manor--" 

"I'm afraid that for the moment..." Dumbledore interrupted himself to sigh. "I am uncertain. Tom is up to something and I've no idea what. Severus may have to wait." 

None of the three were happy about that, but for the moment it seemed that Stonehenge might be a disaster in the making that would have to be dealt with first. A knock on the door forestalled any further discussion. "Come in Harry," Dumbledore responded without any hint of surprise. 

The door slid open and to no one's surprise, the sixteen year old student entered the office. There was no sign of sleepiness in his face, only consternation and confusion. Which deepened into fear when he recognized the pink haired witch. "Something's happened." He said looking back at the Headmaster. "He's gone." 


	30. A Wild Night

Thank you for reading and even more, thanks to my reviewers!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

A Wild Night 

* * *

"Who--" McGonagall began but Harry didn't wait for the end of her query. 

"Voldemort. It was... I felt something... All of a sudden it was like an awful headache was suddenly gone." He looked at the three adults hoping they might explain it, or at the very least understand. "But I knew it was something else and then I realized I felt... I don't know, free." 

"Harry, Voldemort has enclosed himself behind some sort of shield at Stonehenge." Dumbledore explained calmly. "Had you any visions of this?" 

"No sir. Nothing, not even a dream." 

The Headmaster nodded absently. McGonagall gazed at the man with narrow-eyed uncertainty. "Do you have an idea what he's about, Albus?" 

"No, I'm afraid not." The elder wizard sighed a long weary breath. "It worries me." 

"Is Hogwarts safe then? And Harry?" Tonks asked clearly at a loss for any suggestion herself. 

"Oh yes. Hogwarts is perhaps the safest place to be for anyone, my dear," the wizard assured her. 

"And all we can do is keep Watch?" 

"I have no other suggestion at the moment. Perhaps Alastor ought to have a look at the shield. His experiences are not as wide ranging as my own, but they are, at any rate, different." 

Tonks nodded. "I'll suggest it to Kingsley, then." She took a moment to give Harry a quick, reassuring wink. The youth had gone quiet, probably as much to hear the conversation as to regain his composure. 

"Mr Potter, if you've nothing else to report, I think it wise you return to bed. You still have a full day of classes tomorrow," the ever practical Transfigurations Professor suggested in a tone that would brook no disagreement. 

Unable to come up with any convincing argument, the young wizard nodded. 

"If you need to speak with me again, Harry, I will be here," Dumbledore reminded him with his kind eyes twinkling again. "But I think a night of pleasant sleep will be a wonderful experience for you, my dear." 

Harry couldn't help but smile back at the idea and he clearly felt much better about leaving the adults to their plans and machinations. 

After Harry's departure, Tonks gave the older pair a stern look. "What about Severus? I think I know where that Muggle woman has him." 

Headmaster Dumbledore was keenly aware of the gazes of both women and their unstated but unmasked concern for the lost wizard. "I will allow you and Remus to do what you can. But as you did not see Severus himself, I fear you may be acting under false hope." 

Tonks only nodded. There were no guarantees in her line of work. While she waited, the Headmaster threw some floo powder into the office fireplace and called loudly for Remus. That poor man answered the summons looking sleep-worn and disheveled, but uncommonly alert. 

"Albus? What's wrong?" 

"I am sorry to have awakened you, Remus. Please come to my office. Don't worry, while it is urgent, it is not quite an emergency." 

"I'll be right there," the werewolf replied with a quick nod and pulled his head out of the fireplace. 

Tonks sat back in one of the overstuffed chairs and absently chewed a fingernail. She eyed Minerva McGonagall, whose long fingers had entwined themselves worriedly, revealing the older witch's determinedly contained dread. Dumbledore had turned his attention to some letters on his desk, but he looked up suddenly and almost didn't wait for the knock on the door to call out "Enter." 

Remus' eyes widened in surprise at seeing the others. "What's happened?" 

"Tonks believes she knows where Severus is being held," Dumbledore replied immediately. "Understand, she did not actually see him. You two will have to confirm his location before you interact with the Muggles." He said this last looking sternly at the young Auror. 

"I'm a klutz, not an idiot, Albus, I know that." 

The old wizard nodded and heard his deputy's barely choked off snickering. 

"Where is he then?" Remus asked. 

Dawn was grabbing hold of the eastern sky. Remus and Tonks were on their brooms circling high above the Muggle compound. "Her automobile is not here," Tonks leaned slightly toward her companion as if whispering conspiratorially. 

"You said it was rented from a service. Perhaps it's been returned, but that doesn't let us know if she's here or not." Remus replied with a worried frown. "You could morph into one of those guards and take his place and find out. If Severus is there, we can mount a rescue. Otherwise..." Otherwise they were still at a loss. His frown deepened. 

But the young Auror was nodding at his plan. "Fine. You watch the Muggle and when I come back we can Obliviate him." She wrinkled her forehead. "Yeah, it should work." Hopefully. 

They both knew there were a lot of things that could go wrong. But she was a witch after all. She'd never stoop to using the Imperius Curse, but Obliviate was something else entirely! She grinned and aimed her broom toward the wooded copse below, Remus only a fraction of a moment behind her. 

The Muggle, of course, never knew what hit him. Well, not hit exactly. He was stopped by a dream, a vision, an angel. She had golden hair that fell down to perfectly formed shoulders of alabaster cream. Her tight jeans and tank top hid everything yet revealed every perfect curve. He hoped he wasn't drooling as he asked her how she'd got there, but he never got an answer... 

Remus stood beside the sleeping guard, watching as his Doppelganger strode out of the woods toward the squat building, hitching up his trousers in that particular manner of certain somewhat uncouth men. The werewolf blushed, somewhat ashamed of his sex and the Metamorph's ability to mimic it so well. He glanced again at the muscular young guard happily dreaming at his feet and sighing, sat down nearby to pretend to wait patiently for his partner. 

She was back far sooner than he expected. They sky still had that early dawn glimmer. He rose quickly at her hurried approach. As soon as she was near enough he recognized the look of frustration and worry in her face. "What happened?" He asked glancing behind her, worried that she was being chased. 

"Nothing! They're not there! She absconded with him and her bosses are not happy!"   
  
--   
  
Margaret slowed the car and pulled of the paved roadway. Slowing even more, she maneuvered the vehicle into the woods before cutting off the engine and lights. She leaned back in the seat and turned her head to observe the dark haired silence in the passenger's seat. Snape. Her weapon. He didn't, wouldn't, move until she gave him an order to do so. She nodded to herself in satisfaction and got out of the car. She moved to the other side and wrenched open the passenger door, flicking on the portable mike. "Exit and stand," she ordered coldly. 

Naturally he obeyed without thought. But now it was time for something a little more tricky. "Recall the name Snape," she ordered. "Recall the abode of that family." She paused, uncertain if this would work. Perhaps it would have been best to start with another name. But no, his own would be destroyed first. "You have been there. Recall it. Now..." She took hold of his forearm, "Take us there." 

Margaret blinked and found her surroundings changed. As well, she felt a decidedly uncomfortable roiling in her gut and she winced at the discomfort. Snape, on the other hand, looked perfectly... Well, at ease would have been inaccurate. In any case, he did not seem at all discomfited by the mode of travel. "Make no sound. Stay still." She ordered. without a single doubt that he would obey, she turned away from him and tried to take in the night lit scenery. 

They stood in a desolate forest of naked, seemingly dying trees. A small ancient building with several additions stood silently in an overgrown, weedy field. The stone building had been fine once, but clearly was not looked after any longer. Moonlight scattered on dust and grime ridden windows. The front door was half hidden behind ancient brambles that may have once been rose bushes. The whole place screamed of abandonment. Sellinger had no idea if this was illusory or reality, but which really did not matter at all to her. 

She raised her arm and pointed to the once manor home of the family Snape. "Bring it down!" she commanded in a husky, lust filled voice. 

Obediently the ruined wizard raised his wand and whispered some strange Latinate words. The building seemed at first to fall in on itself as if imploding. But barely a breath later remnants of stone, mortar, wood and glass flew outward with a horrendous clap of thunder. The wizard spoke another word and a magnificent fire erupted at the center of this destruction. 

"Contain it!" Sellinger hissed. The last thing she wanted was a raging conflagration to summon firefighters and other unwanted authorities. She waited for his answering whispers and though the shooting flames did not die, they also did not spread to the surrounded flora. She turned her gaze from the fiery demise of his ancestral home in order to observe the expressionless visage of the tall man at her side. 

So. He felt nothing. She would have him feel the loss later, at the end, when she was through with him. She would make him feel everything she had felt and more. But not yet. A weapon with emotions was a weapon with unnecessary weaknesses. She observed the destruction with a lust that only died as the flames themselves ran out of fuel. And then she noticed that the evening had progressed rather farther along than she had realized. And then she felt her own exhaustion, not unlike that of a one whose most ardent passions have been, at least for a short time, sated. She glanced at the wizard standing passively beside her. His face was more than blank, it was bland; emotionless. The flickering firelight bathed his ragged features with a peculiar mix of orange and red and deep dark shadows. He seemed -- no, he was unaware of the destruction wrought by his hand and unaware of the woman's scrutiny. His stance faltered and she thought he must have expended a great deal of energy, magical and physical. 

But there was so much more to do. She grabbed the wizard's forearm again and this time hissed, "The Ministry for Magic! Now!" 


	31. Justice and Vengeance

Thank you for reading and thank you reviewers for making me blush with your kind encouragement! :)

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Justice and Vengeance 

* * *

Margaret immediately realized this was a terrible mistake as a crowd of men and women dressed in the long robes favored by the denizens of the wizarding world suddenly came running toward them. "Snape Residence!" She hissed into the mike quickly and just as immediately found herself and her still emotionless puppet back before the now dying flames. "I need to think!" She hissed again but this was to herself as she quite forgot the mike was live. She glared at the wizard when his head turned toward her. 

The wizard's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed in utter silence to the weed ridden ground. "Damn!" She yelled as if to curse whatever deities had the effrontery to be spying upon her. She strode over and gave a sharp hard kick to his lower back. "Get up! I am Control. Get up! Obey or die!" Of course he couldn't and didn't, being genuinely unconscious. 

She killed the mike and swore to herself. All right, she'd known magic used energy. She simply hadn't been able to calculate how much. This was a minor setback. If she didn't get them hidden it could become major as sooner or later someone just might chance upon-- 

Her halfway hysterical thought cut off sharply as the burgeoning morning light revealed small, almost completely overgrown carriage house. "Dammit!" She swore and reaching down, grabbed Snape's collar to drag him towards the small, obviously unused, out-building. 

It seemed, at first, that getting inside was going to be something of a chore. Not that the long lean body was particularly heavy; not after being sustained by only intravenous fluids. But the ground was not a smooth floor and an unconscious body was exceedingly uncooperative. Not to mention she had no idea how they were going to get inside. 

Fortune, however, was on her side. As she hauled the limp body closer, the sweat soaked, weary Margaret realized that a particularly nasty lacework of thorny weeds masked a collapsed section of wall. She grinned with relief and worked at shoving him through without too badly damaging the protective brambles. That done, the unconscious wizard an ungainly heap on the floor in the darkness, she went back and retrieved the wand. 

Finally, she got herself inside (with a great deal more care for her own flesh). Thoroughly exhausted herself, she moved to another corner of the room and sat down on a pile of old carpeting. She shuddered to think what might be living in it, but she was too tired to think really hard about it. She curled up and fell asleep.   
  
--   
  
_What a night,_ Tonks moaned to herself mentally as she peeled off her clothing only to let each piece fall as it would while she made her way to her bed. Not even bothering with the pyjamas scrunched under her pillow, she slid beneath the covers and sighed once as she fell asleep. 

"Tonks! Tonks, wake up!" 

No, no, no! "Da, just a few more minutes," she groaned into her pillow. 

"Tonks, it's Remus. You need to wake up." 

"Shite!" The young Auror barely stopped herself from jumping up. But that didn't stop the full body blush that accompanied the memory that she had gone to sleep naked. 

With a man in her bedroom. 

Wait a bit. What was he doing here? "Remus?" She asked while clearing out the fuzz in her head and mouth. 

"Yes. I came by floo powder." Order members were cleared to come through her wards via floo if there was an emergency. "Hurry up and get dressed." He left her bedroom satisfied that she was awake and curious. 

She practically rolled out of bed and quickly found some clean clothes that she pulled on after a quick wash. Thankfully her hair was magically manageable (although if she didn't give a good comb through soon that might not remain true). She hurried into her kitchen where Remus had already made tea. "What's going on?" She asked as she pulled on her socks and trainers. 

"Snape was seen at the Ministry." 

"What?" Her foot dropped to the floor with a thud. 

"For all of perhaps a second. Dr Sellinger was with him. At least his companion fit the description of 'blonde woman wearing Muggle clothing.'" Remus carried two mugs of tea to the table setting one of them near the younger witch. 

"'Was seen', you say?" she finished with her footwear and reached for the tea, almost knocking it over. 

Remus nodded. "They disapparated as soon as the Hit Wizards showed up." 

She gulped down the tea, but her mind was on the events Lupin was telling her, not on the warm savory taste in her mouth. "Wasn't his idea, then." She murmured thoughtfully. 

Remus' eyebrow quirked upwards and he smirked slightly in a question. 

"He'd know better. He'd know that any unannounced entry would summon a pack of Hit Wizards to the very point of entry." 

"Indeed. I daresay Albus agrees with that. But with the Aurors and Hit wizards are all on full alert, the Ministry's paranoia is at its fullest. There have been suggestions that Severus was sent to assassinate Minister Fudge." 

"That would be Fudge's idea. But even the thickest Death Eater would not expect the man to be there overnight! And Severus Snape is not thick." 

"Quite true. Still, with You-Know-Who behind a fortress of his own devising, Fudge is not the only scared wizard -- or witch -- about." 

"What does Albus want us to do?" 

"You need to get to the Ministry. I'm to investigate a disturbance Albus sensed at the Snape family home." 

"Disturbance?" 

Remus shrugged. "I guess I'll find out when I get there." 

Tonks found the Ministry in a right uproar. A disheveled Minister Fudge was driving everyone to distraction. She snuck quietly into Kingsley's office and, not unexpectedly, found the dark skinned Auror hiding behind an abnormally high stack of parchment scrolls. "Wotcher, Kingsley." She greeted more cheerfully than she felt. 

"Tonks. Glad you are here." 

She nodded. "Heard about the ...erm..." 

"Unauthorized entry. It was Snape, in case you hadn't heard that." He glanced at her unsurprised expression. "But of course you have. The night shift Hit Wizards have all given their statements but they aren't much help. We're part of the 'investigation' because Snape is a Death Eater." 

"Not that they realize his companion was a Muggle and she was most likely the one in charge?" Tonks queried curiously. 

"Not bloody likely." 

"At least we don't have to serve as Fudge's bodyguards." 

Shacklebolt gave her a wry look. 

"Erm... Do we?" 

"You do. I, thankfully, have enough seniority to be able to avoid that." 

"Brilliant," she groaned in a tone that belied the word's meaning. "What about You-Know-Who and Stonehenge?" 

"Nothing new. So just keep away from the Minister's roving paws and your duty should be a breeze to get through." 

"Ugh. I'd rather be with Remus, sifting through whatever disturbance at Snape's that Professor Dumbledore sensed!" 

"Sorry Tonks. That's Order work and you are on official time now. But I'm sure Remus and Alastor will tell us all about it later."   
  
--   
  
Remus and Moody stared at the rubble that had once been a small but ancient and formidable manor. "Bloody hell!" Remus gasped softly. He'd seen pictures of the place as had the ex-Auror. 

"Maybe something useful survived." The older wizard supposed hopefully and Remus knew he meant evidence that would send Severus to Azkaban. 

"Severus never lived here after he was free of his father's control." 

Moody snorted derisively. "You belive that?" 

"This was never a home to him, Alastor. Ask Dumbledore if you need specifics. He'll tell you that much." 

Moody shrugged. "Well it's not worth a knut now. But Dark artifacts do have a way of surviving some of the worst destructive spells imaginable." He looked away from the destruction in order to stare at his companion with both eyes. "Just because he didn't use this place as his abode don't mean he didn't use it for storage." 

Remus only sighed. "It's more important that we find out what caused this destruction, Alastor. Who caused it..." 

"Powerful magic." The grizzled haired pensioner grimaced while using his magic eye to peer at and through the rubble. "No sense of Dark Arts though." He sounded positively disappointed. He moved closer to the pile of burnt stone and mortar, ashes and dust, and whatever else undefinable remained. Anything that could burn had done so. And yet it had been completely contained so that the surrounding forest and grounds were completely untouched by the conflagration that had burnt seemingly uncontrolled. 

"Can you tell what spell started the fire?" the younger wizard asked as he followed along behind the more experienced ex-Auror. 

"No. But there was more than just a fire." Moody knelt and picked up a small misshapen and recently broken stone. "There was a massive explosion." 

"Also contained then." Remus noted the evidence of lack of said debris strewn about the grounds. 

"Yeah." He sniffed. "Can't tell what burned." 

"It all burned, Alastor." A woman's voice replied. 

Remus jerked around, jumping quickly to his feet. But Moody was not surprised at all. He rose unhurriedly, calmly brushing the dust from his hands as he did so. "Ah. Margaret Alice.I was wondering when you'd come out" His magic eye roved from her to the tall motionless statue at her side. "And I see you have our missing wizard with you." 

"You and I have no quarrel, Alastor." 

"No. We don't. What are you doing here?" 

"Seeing that justice is done." 

"By destroying a house?" Remus blurted out. 

The blonde's eyes flicked to the younger wizard. "By destroying all that belongs to this Pureblood who murdered my brother." 

"And then what, Margaret Alice? I won't let your Muggle espionage authorities have Snape." 

"No worries. When I have finished with him there won't be anything for anyone to have." 

"What else did you have in mind?" 

"Alastor, don't ask me that. I don't want to hurt you." 

"Margaret--" 

"It's the fault of the Purebloods. They want us dead. You haven't been able to stop them." 

"You think you will?" Remus asked harshly. 

"I'll stop enough of them," she wore a faint, distant smile, as if seeing the results of her handiwork in the future and acknowledging the world better for it. 

"Revenge is not justice, Dr Sellinger," Remus argued. 

The woman's expression hardened. "Don't presume to lecture me, wizard. Just stay out of my way." She tapped something in her hand and murmured softly. Then suddenly she and Snape were gone. 

"Did you catch that, Lupin?" Moody asked gruffly. 

"Malfoy Manor, I think." 


	32. Visions Obscured

Thank you for reading and even more, thanks to my reviewers!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons **

Visions Obscured 

* * *

Margaret Sellinger expected to see something identifiable as a manor house. She did not expect to see nothing but countryside. She spun about in place then swore angrily. "What is this? Where is the manor?!" 

Her companion silently lifted a hand to point toward a rolling knoll. 

"We see nothing there." 

"Beyond," the voice rasped weakly. 

Margaret almost berated him when she remembered that many (and especially disreputable) wizards warded the areas about their homes to stave off unwanted... guests. "Walk. Lead us there." 

Obediently, her wizard weapon strode forward unmindful of the rough ground tearing up the soles of his feet. But the closer to the knoll they got, the more reticent she felt. As if she'd left something undone; something important... But there was nothing more important than destroying the Purebloods! She growled to herself as she fought this feeling. 

And then they crested the knoll and the stately manor rose majestically into view. "Halt." She growled. "Recall the wards placed as protections. Lead us through them. Disarm them. Let no signal of our coming reach the residents of this place." 

She heard him begin muttering and then he began moving again, not in a straight line, but edging this way and that into a copse of trees, skirting a hedged garden. He constructed a convoluted path through the fine manicured greenery until a towering wall of brambled ivy stood between them and the fortress within. She followed at a distance of about six feet behind him. 

"Margaret Alice!" A familiar raspy voice called out from back the way she'd come. "Don't! Not this place! It's all traps, you'll be killed!" 

She spun about and saw Alastor and his younger but greying companion coming toward her. "The worst of the Death Eaters lives here!" She growled. She narrowed her eyes and brought out her weapon of last resort; a Muggle pistol. "Stay back. I am an excellent shot." She knew the older wizard would know what kind of weapon she carried, and from the expression on his younger companion he did as well. With half an ear she kept track of Snape doggedly making his way through whatever traps were laid upon the ivy covered wall, his muttering a constant drone now. 

"Fine destroy a house. But Malfoy isn't there." Moody insisted. 

"What, at work is he? Works for the Ministry for Magic, doesn't he? He'll come as soon as he feels his wards falling and his home under siege. He'll come and he'll die." 

"I doubt it. He's with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and they are at Stonehenge." 

"Liar! And why should you care?" 

"You aren't a murderer yet." 

Margaret laughed. She hissed into the mike, "Take down that wall, now!" 

This time there was no initial implosion. There was a terrible rumble and then an explosion. Chips of stone and shattered plaster flew everywhere, carrying along in the shock wave bits of torn greenery. She felt the myriad stings as she was bombarded by the flying debris. "Contain it!" she screeched and instinctively spun around to see what Snape was doing. But he was on his knees, barely conscious, a bloodied mess and the wand forgotten on the ground. She raised her gun. "I am Control! You have failed!" 

The two wizards had broken into a run as soon as she'd turned away. When she lifted her weapon both men knew there was nothing else they could do but run and acknowledge the futility of it. They were too far away. 

He lifted his head toward Her, glazed eyes dark and dead looked at her. Short blonde hair. Recognition bloomed at last. _No!_

A sudden wash of wild magic erupted from within him and drove itself madly at his tormentor. "No!" It would have been a scream if he'd had the voice for it. The magic exploded in brilliant blue-white intensity. 

And faded. Remus heard both his own and Alastor Moody's curses as they each fought to regain their sight. At last, though it was mere moments, the world settled back into what it had been. No roar, no thunder, no flares of light. But Margaret Alice was gone... and Severus Snape had collapsed backwards and now lay supine, vacant eyes staring sightlessly up into the Autumnal sky.   
  
--   
  
"Severus? Severus, Can you hear me?" 

The universe emerged with discomfiting urgency. Sounds pummeled his ears and a cool touch danced across his face. But he could see nothing. He groaned, only in part to find out if he even could. 

"Severus, drink." An unfamiliar, gentle, voice urged. Then something touched his lips and instinct took over. His mouth opened so he tried to swallow the cool fluid that flowed in lest he drown first. It hurt, stung his throat and the roof of his mouth and burned in his stomach. He turned his head away from the offensive onslaught. His head was lowered onto soft pillows though until that moment he hadn't realized he was being propped up. He welcomed the relief of enfolding oblivion.   
  
--   
  
"Severus, dear boy, please try to wake up." Another voice. He almost answered but it was too much and the embrace of nepenthe smothered him once more.   
  
--   
  
He floated through limbo without destination, without cognizance, without sense. Until he realized he had a self. Then the comfort of nonexistence was shattered and he was lifted to a sharp reality of sense. Mostly pain. He moaned and tried to force his eyes open. He was successful, much to his own dismay as overwhelming brightness thrust a lance through his eyes and into his brain. "He's oversensitive to light," a woman's voice said from nearby. 

Someone else spoke a quiet spell and the light was dimmed. 

"Severus, dear, can you hear me?" 

He carefully blinked a few times before trusting that he would not be blinded again. A face came into view and the blurred features slowly came into focus as he peered intently at it. "Molly," he rasped. "Tea..." 

Someone chuckled and he laboriously turned his head in that direction. A youngish wizard looked back at him, a tentative smile on his face. 

"Remus." 

"Yes. Do you recall your own name?" 

He grimaced. It was there somewhere. "Severus." He had to think quite a bit more but the people staring at him were silently patient until he came up with, "Snape." 

Several days later, he was sitting up in bed, reading. Not all his memories had returned, but his biting wit and sarcastic manner were beginning to make occasional appearances, especially when his body reminded him that he was still ill. He was clearly frustrated, both with himself and his wretchedly slow recovery. But suddenly all that agony meant nothing as his arm began to burn with a searing pain. The shock of it had him cry out before he realized it and that brought a half dozen people running into his room. 

He looked up at them and focused his wide-eyed gaze on the eldest of them. "Albus," he gasped with raw pain and awful horror, "I am your spy and I have a job to do. He is calling for me."   
  


**_Fin: Book I  
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_**Next: Book II, **_Dance at the Edge of a Precipice_**


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